Something to vote for; a one act play

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PS 1744 ^''*

.G57 S6 !. No. 61.

1911 ===
Copy 1

JUNE 1911

1 HE ForeKuhneR

BY

CKarlotte Perkios Gilman.

CONTENTS

Something To Vote For.
A Diet Undesired.
Happiness and Religion.
The Crux. Chapter VI.
Stones.

The Wild Oat. of the Soul.

That Obvious Purpose.

Moving the Mountain. Chapter VI.

"N. G."

Comnient and Review.

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THE FORERUNNER

A Monthly Magazine
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By

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"THE CRUX" .

Mrs. Gilman's new novel, appears in
THE FORERUNNER, of 1911

This touches upon one of the most vivid and vital of our marriage problems;
and has more than one kind of love story in it. Also, published serially,
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"Moving the Mountain''

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The Forerunner

WiUt Btanttia Biti

A NOVEL

BY

Charlotte Perkins Oilman

FROM OUR REVIEWS

"What Diantha Did" is a sensible book; it
gives a new and deserved comprehension of
the importance and complexity of housekeep-
ing. . . . We would not undervalue Mrs.
Oilman's attempt to let some light in upon the
distracting situation of woman in domestic
work. It is needed there if in any business in
the world. — The Independent.

Mrs. Oilman is as full of ideas as ever, and
her Diantha is a model for all young women.
. . . Diantha's plans may well furnish a so-
lution to the problems of domestic life that
have long been pressing intolerably upon the
American woman, and are by no means
negligible in European countries. — The Eng-
lishwoman.

The story is full of action and humorous
situations. . . . Diantha is a clever and
most engaging young woman, and her experi-
ence is related in such a manner, with facts

and figures, as to be of practical value to other
aspiring housekeepers. — Chicago Socialist.

What she did was to solve the domestic
service problem for both mistress and maid in
a southern California town ; and she illustrated
in her own life Mrs. Oilman's theory that a
wife, mother and housekeeper can easily be
also a business man. — The Survey.

The interest in all this lies partly in the
reader's continual questioning of the possibility
of such results and the shrewdness with which
Mrs. Oilman meets these inevitable questions
with trenchant facts and incontestable figures.
At the end one may not be convinced, but one
has been impressed. The kitchen, whose sor-
did demands have thwarted the aspirations of
so many women and prevented any measure
of real life, has a real interest in the hands of
such a serious and clever writer. — The Chicago
Evening Post.

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The Forerunner

The Man-made World

Or,

Our Androcentric Culture

BY

CHARLOTTE PERKINS OILMAN

"Since the beg-innin:^ of recorded history the most civiHzed part of
our world has held that woman was at the bottom of all the evil from
which we are suffering. Now comes a woman who tells us that it is
all the other way. In so far as the world is bad, she says, it is so
because man has made it to suit himself, without regard for woman's
ways and woman's needs.

"Furthermore, this woman says that for six thousand years, at least,
man has been writing books about woman, as woman making her out
to be everything but what she really is. This one woman is tired of the
process. She wants to get even with man, and so she has written a
book about man — as man. She knows that he will not like it, but she
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reason the truth must be told first of all.

"Of the future Mrs. Oilman says this in conclusion : "The scope and
purpose of human life is entirely above and beyond the field of sex
relationship. Women are human beings, as much as men, by nature;
and as women, they are even more sympathetic with human processes.
To develop human life in its true powers we need full equal citizen-
ship for woman." — A^. V. Times, Sunday, January 15, 191 1.

Mailed post-paid Price, $L00

THE CHARLTON COMPANY

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VoliHTie II. No. 6

THE

JUNE, 1911

1.00 A YEAR

FORERUNNER

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

AUTHOR, Owner & Publisher
67 Wall Street, New York

10 A COPY

COPYRIGHT 1911 C. P. GILMAN
ENTERED IN NEW YORK POST OFFICE, N. Y., OCTOBER 29. 1909, AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER

Parental duty is a law of Nature.

Filial duty is a virtue invented by the Patriarchs.

SOMETHING TO VOTE

A One Act Play

FOR

JUN 6 1811

TIME, 50 MINUTES.
PEOPLE IN THE PLAY.

Mrs. May Carroll: A young, beautiful, rich
widow; an "Anti" ; President of Woman's
Club; social leader.

Dr. Strong: A woman doctor, from Colo-
rado, interested in Woman Suffrage and
pure milk.

Miss Carrie Turner: Recording Secretary
of Club; a social aspirant; agrees with
everybody; "Anti."

Mrs. RtEDWAY : Corresponding Secretary of
Club; amiable, elderly nonentity; "Anti."

Mrs. Wolverhampton : Rich, impressive,
middle-aged matron; "Anti."

Mrs. O'Shane: A little woman in black;
thin, poor.

Louise: A maid.

Club Women : Mrs. Black, White, etc.

Mr. Henry Arnold: A Milk Inspector.

Mr. James Billings : Head of the Milk Trust.

Place — A parlor, porch or garden, belong-
ing to Mrs. Carroll.

Properties Required — Chairs enough, a
small table, a small platform covered with a
rug, a table bell, tzvo pitchers, a glass, a vase;
two milk bottles filled zvifh water, starch and
a little black dirt; a yellow-backed bill, some
red ink, a small buncJi of flozvers, tzvo large
clean handkerchiefs, a small bottle of iodine,
a teacup. Miss Turner has a bag for her
papers, and Dr. Strong an instrument bag or
something similar, also a large pocket-book.

SOMETHING TO VOTE FOR.

{Chairs arranged at right, platform,
with table and three chairs at left
front. Doors at left, right and center.)

(Enter Miss Turner and Mrs. Rced-
Zi'ay, I.)

Copyright, 1911

By Charlotte Perkins Oilman

Mrs. Reedway — Dear me! I was so
afraid we'd be late !

Miss Turner — {Looking at watch.)
Oh, no ! The meeting begins at three
you know, and it's only quarter past !

Mrs. Reedway — {Drawing scarf
about her.) I wish it would get warmer!
I do Hke warm weather!

Miss Turner — So do I !

Mrs. Reedway — What a lovely place
Mrs. Carroll has ! I think we are ex-
tremely fortunate to have her for our
president.

Miss Turner — So do I ! She's so
sweet !

Mrs. Reedway — I hear she has asked
Mr. Billings to this milk discussion.

Miss Turner — Yes — you're not sur-
prised are you ?

Mrs. Reedway — Oh, no! Every one
is talking about them. He's been con-
spicuously devoted to her for some time
now. I think it's her money he's after.

Miss Turner — So do I ! But she's
crazy about him !

Mrs. Reedway — I suppose she thinks
he's disinterested — being so rich himself.
But I've heard that he'd lose a lot if this
milk bill goes through.

Miss Turner — So have I !

{Enter Dr. Strong. I.)

Dr. Strong — Sorry to be late. I was
detained by a patient.

Miss Turner — Oh, you're not late,
Dr. Strong. The ladies are usually a lit-
tle slow in gathering.

pf^il'V^^

And about what
really begin ^

144

Dr. Strong — I see !
time do your meetings

Miss Turner — About half past three,
usually.

Dr. Strong — Next time I'll come
then. I could have seen two more pa-
tients—I hate to see women so un-
punctual.

Miss Turner — So do I ! This is Mrs.
Reedway, our corresponding secretary.
Dr. Strong. (They shake hands.)

Mrs. Reedway — You must remember,
Dr. Strong, that our members are not
— as a whole — professional women.

Dr. Strong — More's the pity !

(Enter Airs. Wolverhampton, I.)

Mrs. Wolverhampton — Well, well !
Not started yet? But you're always on
hand, Miss Turner. (Fans herself.)
Bless me, how hot it is ! I do hate hot
weather.

Miss Turner — So do I.

Mrs. Reedway — Have you met our
new member, Mrs. Wolverhampton? Dr.
Strong, of Colorado. (Mrs. IV. bozvs.
comes forzvard and shakes

me

Dr. S
hands. )

Mrs. Wolverhampton — Dear
From Colorado ! And I suppose you
have voted !

Dr. Strong — I certainly have. You
seem to think I look like it.

Mrs. Wolverhampton. — Why, yes;
if you'll pardon me, you do.

Dr. Strong — Pardon you? It seems
to me a compliment. We're very proud
of being voters — in my country.

(Mrs. R. and Mrs. W. draw aside and
converse in lozv tones. Miss T. fussily
arranges papers; she has a large flat hag,
and is continually diznng into it and
fumbling about.) (Enter Mrs. Car-
roll, c.)

Mrs. Carroll — Pardon me, ladies !
I'd no idea it was so late. (Greets them
all).

Miss Turner — Dear Mrs. Carroll !
Would you accept these flowers ?

Mrs. Carroll — How charming of
you. Miss Turner ! They are lovely.
(Siveeps tozvard Dr. S., both hands out,
c.) My dear Doctor! I feel so glad and
proud to have you with us ! ( Turns to
others.) You know, Mrs. Wolverhamp-
ton, Dr. Strong saved my mother's life!
If she had come here sooner I'm sure
she would have saved my baby ! And

Something To Vote For ^ ■ -

she's going to be such a help to our .-lub,
aren't you, Doctor?

Dr. Strong — I'm not so sure of that,
Mrs. Carroll. I'm afraid this isn't the
sort of club I'm used to.

Mrs. Carroll — It's the sort of a club
that needs you, Doctor! (Takes Dr.'s
arm and sits dozvn zvith her.) Make
yourselves quite at home, ladies, the
others will be here presently. (Miss T.,
Mrs. R. and Mrs. W. go out, c.) We've
got everything arranged. Doctor. I'm
going to have a bottle of the Billings Co.
milk tested, and ]\Ir. Billings himself is
to be here.

Dr. Strong — That may be awkward.

Mrs. Carroll — Oh, no ! The milk is
all right — I've taken it for years. And I
think he's a very line man.

Dr. Strong. — (Drily.) So I hear.

Mrs. Carroll — You mustn't believe
all you hear. Doctor.

Dr. Strong — I don't. But I hope it
isn't true.

Mrs. Carroll — Hope what isn't true?

Dr. Strong — About you and Mr.
Billings.

Mrs. Carroll — Never mind about me
and Mr. Billings ! The question is have
you got the new Inspector to come ?

Dr. Strong — ^Yes, he'll be ready on
time — but the club won't, I'm afraid.

Mrs. Carroll — Oh, a few moments
won't matter, I'm sure. It's a Mr. Ar-
nold you said — do you know his initials?

Dr. Strong — His name's Henry T.
Arnold. I believe he's honest and efifi-
cient.

Mrs. Carroll — (Meditatively.) I
used to go to school with a boy named
Harry Arnold — he was the very nicest
boy in the room. I think he liked me
pretty well

Dr. Strong — And I think you liked
him pretty well — eh?

Mrs. Carroll — Oh, well ! That was
years ago !

Dr. Strong — (Suddenly.) By the
way, Mrs. Carroll, have you any red ink ?

AIrs. Carroll — Red ink?

Dr. Strong — Yes, red ink — can you

get me some?

Mrs. Carroll — Why, I'm sure I
don't know. Let me see — I did have
some — it's right here — if there is any.
(Goes out r. and returns zvith red ink.)

Dr. Strong — Thank you. (Takes out

The Forerunner

145

a yellozv - backed bill, and deliberately
marks it.)

Mrs. Carroll — How exciting! What
do you do that for, Doctor?

Dr. Strong — Just a habit of mine.
Some day I may see that again and then
I'd know it.

]Mrs. Carroll — Do you mark all your
money ?

Dr. Strong — Oh, no. Only some of
it. And now will you do me a real
favor ?

Mrs. Carroll — Indeed I will !
Dr. Strong — Please do not make any
remark about this bill if you see me
change it ! !

INIrs. Carroll — How mysterious ! I
won't say a word.

Dr. Strong — (Putting azuay bill.)
You said I might bring along one of my
patients, for evidence, and I have. I've
got little Mrs. O'Shane here to tell them
how it affects the poor people.

Mrs. Carroll — That will be interest-
ing, I'm sure — where is she?

Dr. Strong — Waiting outside — I
couldn't induce her to come in.
Mrs. Carroll — I'll bring her in.
(Exit Mrs. C, I., returns zvith a small
shabby zvomen in black, zvho shrinks into
the chair farthest back and sits silent.
Mrs. Carroll — It's very good of you
to come, Mrs. O'Shane; we're so much
obliged !

(Enter Louise, I.)
Louise — Mr. Arnold, Ma'am.
Mrs. Carroll — Show him in, Louise.
(Exit Louise. Enter Mr. Arnold, I.)

Dr. Strong— Mrs. Carroll— Mr. Ar-
nold,

Mrs. Carroll — It is Harry Arnold, I
do believe ! But you don't remember me !
Mr. Arnold — Don't remember little
May Terry ! The prettiest girl in school !
I've never forgotten her. But I did not
expect to find you here.

Mrs. Carroll — I'm glad to welcome
you to my home, Mr. Arnold, as well as
to our club. And how are you — get-
ting on?

Mr. Arnold — Nothing to boast of
Mrs. Carroll, if you mean in dollars and
cents. I like public work you see, and
the salaries are not high.

Mrs. Carroll — But some of our offi-
cials get very rich, don't they?

Mr. Arnold — Yes, some of them do,
— but not on their salaries.

Dr. Strong — If you knew more about
politics, Mrs. Carroll, you would think
better of Mr. Arnold for not making
much. And he an Inspector, too!

Mrs. Carroll — You don't mean that
our public men are bribed, surely!

Dr. Strong — It's been known to oc-
cur.

Mrs. Carroll — Oh, I can't believe
that such things go on — here ! Did any
one ever bribe you, Mr. Arnold?

Mr. Arnold — Some have tried.

Mrs. Carroll — Not in this town,
surely.

Mr. Arnold — Not yet.

Dr. Strong — He's only just appoint-
ed, Mrs. Carroll.

Mr. Arnold — Thanks to you, Dr.
Strong.

Dr. Strong — Yes, I guess I did help.
(Enter Louise, L)

Louise — Mr. Billings.

Mrs. Carroll — Ask him to come in.
(Exit Louise, I. Enter Mr. Billings, I.)
Good afternoon, Mr. Billings. Let me
present you to my dear friend, Dr.
Strong — our new member. And Mr.
Arnold you probably know — the Milk
Inspector. (Mr. Billings approaches Dr.
Strong, zvho bozvs stiffly. He shakes
hands amiably ztnth Mr. Arnold.)

Mr. Billings— Well, Mr. Arnold, I
think we're going to make an impression
on these ladies. I trust you'll deal gent-
ly with me.

Mr. Arnold — I'll do the best I can,
Mr. Billings. I didn't expect to have
the head of the Milk Trust in my audi-
ence.

Mrs. Carroll — That is all my fault,
Mr. Arnold. I have taken milk of Mr.
Billings' company for years, and it's al-
ways good. And I want the ladies to
know it. Mr. Billings can stand the
test.

jMr. Arnold — I'm glad to hear it,
Mrs. Carroll.

]Mr. Billings — (Genially.) You'll
show up all of us rascally milk-men I
don't doubt.

Mr. Arnold— I hope not. (Mr. Bil-
lings goes to Mrs. Carroll. They talk
apart. Dr. Strong confers zdth Mr.
Arnold.)

Dr. Strong— (To Mr. Arnold.) Now

146

Something To Vote For

Mr. Arnold watch me, and be sure you
play up. Say you can't make change
for this bill! (Goes to Mr. Billings.)
Mr. Billings — can you — and will you —
change this bill for me? Mr. Arnold
here can't make it.

Mr. Arnold — I'm sorry, Doctor. But
I haven't seen a hundred dollar bill in
some time.

Mrs. Carroll — Perhaps I can —

Mr. Billings — No indeed, Mrs. Car-
roll ! I shall be delighted. Dr. Strong, —
if I have that much about me. (Brings
out bills from pockets and makes up the
amount.)

Dr. Strong — Thank you, Mr. Bil-
lings. (Gives him her marked bill. The
club members are seen arriving in back-
ground, c. Returning to Mr. A.) What
figures have you brought, Mr. Arnold?
I don't want to cross your trail. (They
confer apart.)

Mr. Billings — (To Mrs. Carroll.)
Isn't it rather a new thing for you to
interest yourself in public matters, Mrs.
Carroll?

Mrs. Carroll — Oh, but milk is really
a domestic matter — don't you think so?
So many of our ladies are getting
interested in it.

Mr. Billings — I suspect that is be-
cause you are ! I do not think you
realize your influence in this town.

Mrs. Carroll — I'm sure you overesti-
mate it.

Mr. Billings — Not in the least ! Look
at the way you swing this club ! And
these are the society lights — all the other
women follow. And the men are yours
to command anyhow ! I tell you such
an influence as yours has Woman Suf-
frage beaten to a standstill !

Mrs. Carroll — Oh ! — Woman Suf-
frage! (With great scorn. Enter Mrs.
Wolverhampton, c.)

Mrs. Wolverhampton — Pardon me
Mrs, Carroll, but it is half past three.

Mrs. Carroll — Dear me ! yes, we
must come to order. (Ladies all come in
and take seats. Some polite confusion.
Mrs. Carroll in the chair. Mrs. O'Shane
and Mr. Billings at extreme right, be-
hind others but near front of stage.)
Platform, table, etc., I. front.)

Mrs. Carroll — (Rising.) Ladies, and
— gentlemen, — I — er — as you all know,
I can't make a speech, — and I'm not in

the least fit to be the president of a club —
but you would have it you know ! (Mur-
mur of approval; faint applause.) I am
very glad to welcome you to my home,
and I'm sure I hope we shall all enjoy
meeting here. (Adore faint applause.) I
don't suppose it's very business like —
but the very first thing I want to do is to
introduce our new member, Dr. Strong
of Col. (Mrs. C. sits. Dr. S. rises and
bozvs.) O do come forward to the plat-
form. Doctor, where we can all see you.

Dr. Strong — (Coming to platform.)
Madam President — Ladies — and gentle-
men ! I did not expect to be sprung on
you until after the reading of the
minutes at least. But I am very glad to
meet you and to feel that you have
honored me with membership in what I
understand is the most influential wom-
an's club in this community. I have
heard that this is a very conservative
club, but I find that you are interesting
yourselves in one of the most vital move-
ments of our time — a question of practi-
cal politics — Pure Milk. (The ladies cool
and stiffen at the word "politics.") It is
a great question — a most important ques-
tion— one that appeals to the mother-
heart and housekeeping sense of every
woman. It is a matter of saving money
and saving life — the lives of little chil-
dren ! I do not know of any single issue
now before us which is so sure to make
every woman want to vote. The ballot
is our best protection. (Cries of "no!"
"no" Much confusion and talking among
members. One hiss. Mrs. Wolverhamp-
ton rises ponderously.)

Mrs. Wolverhampton — Madam
President ! I rise to a point of order ! I
move you that our new member be in-
formed that all discussion of woman suf-
frage is forbidden by the by-laws of this
club! There is no subject so calculated
to disrupt an organization.

Mrs Black — Madam President!

Mrs. Carroll — Mrs. Black.

Mrs. Black — I wish to second the
motion ! We decided long ago to allow
no discussion of woman suffrage ! I con-
sider it to be one of the most dangerous
movements of our time !

Mrs. White — Madam President!

Mrs. Carroll — Mrs. White. Won't
you come forward, Mrs. White?

Mrs. White — O no, excuse me — no.

The Forerunner

147

I'll speak from here. I merely wish to
agree with the previous speaker. Wom-
an suffrage breaks up the home.

Mrs. Grey — Madam President!

Mrs. Greex — Madam President.

Mrs. Carroll — Airs. Grey I think
spoke first. In a moment, Mrs. Green.
Mrs. Gray. I just want to say that I for
one should feel obliged to resign if
woman suffrage is to be even mentioned
in the club !

Mrs, Green — Madam President !

Mrs. Brown — Madam President !

Mrs. &c — Madam President! {There
has been a constant buzz of disap-
proval. )

Mrs. Carroll — Ladies ! One at a
time, please! {Several ladies are on
their feet. All speak together.)

Mrs. Green — A woman's place is in
the home, Madam President! If she
takes good care of the home and brings
up her children right —

Mrs. Brow^n — Women are not fitted
for politics, they haven't the mind for it
— and my husband says politics is not fit
for women, either !

Mrs. Jones — This club decided long
ago that it was against woman suffrage
— et al. Who'd take care of the baby?

Our power is through our feminine in-
fluence—

Yes — a woman's influence. — {Great
confusion.)

Mrs. Carroll — {Rapping feebly on
the table.) Ladies, ladies, we will ad-
journ for some refreshments. Won't
you please all come and have some tea?
{All go out, c. and r. still talking. Mrs.
C. and Mr. B. last. Dr. S. and Mr. A
remain.)

Mr. Arnold— (To Dr. S.) Well, Dr.
Strong, you did put your foot in it !

Dr. Strong — [Ruefully.) Yes — that
was unfortunate, wasn't it? I'd no idea
they'd fly up like that,

Mr. Arnold — Never mind. I'll only
talk milk to 'em — pure milk !

Dr. Strong — {Walks up and dozvn,
hands behind her, much perturbed.) I'm
right sorry to have annoyed those wom-
en. This is an awfully important oc-
casion. Even if they can't vote, they
could do something.

Mr, Arnold — Don't you fret. Doctor,
we'll get them interested.

Dr. Strong — You don't know how

important this is. The death rate among
the babies here is something shameful —
it's mostly owing to bad milk — and the
bad milk is mostly owing to this man
Billings. If this bill passes he's got the
whole thing in his hands ! And he's
crooked !

Mr. Arnold — I'd about come to that
conclusion, myself.

Dr. Strong — He's got her confidence
you see — and she swings this town, so-
cially. What's more, he means to marry
her — and he's not a fit man to marry
any decent woman. We've got to put a
spoke in his wheel, Mr. Arnold !

Mr. Arnold — I'm willing.

Dr. Strong — You'll never get a better
opportunity than right now ! He'll try
to fix you before you speak — I'll promise
you that ! and do you stick out for that
hundred dollar bill — and take it !

Mr. Arnold — I guess not ! What do
you think I am?

Dr. Strong — I think you're man
enough to see this game through. It's a
marked bill, I tell you ! You take that
hundred and look at it — if there's a
speck of red in the middle on the top
— on both sides — you take it, and bring
it out in evidence after you've shown
up the milk !

Mr. Arnold — But the milk he sends
here'll be all right.

Dr. Strong — Of course! But I've
brought in another bottle in my bag —
and I'm going to substitute it ! It's his
milk, all right — the common grocery
store kind — you'll be safe with the iodine
test. Sh ! You take that bill !
{Re-enter Mrs. C. c. bringing tea to Mrs.
O' Shane.)

Mrs. Carroll— (To Mrs. 0.) We are
really much indebted to you for coming,
Mrs. O'Shane — I hope you are quite
comfortable?

Mrs. O'Shane — Thank you Ma'am,
thank you kindly !

Mrs. Carroll — {Crossing to Dr. S.)
Now Dr. Strong, you musn't be angry
because our ladies are not suffragettes.

Dr. Strong — Not a bit — I'm only
sorry I mentioned it — I'm here to talk
milk — not suft'rage.

Mrs, Carroll — That's so nice of you !
Now do go out and get some tea, doc-
tor. {E.rit Dr. S. r.)

Mrs. Carroll — I suppose you're

148

Something To Vote For

going to be very impressive Mr. Arnold !
You were as a boy, you know !

Mr. Arnold — Was I? I don't re-
member that.

Mrs. Carroll — Yes, indeed. You
used to brush your hair, — when you did
brush it — in a way I thought extremely
fine.

]\Ir. Arnold — And yours was always
brushed! Beautiful long soft curls! I
used to wish I dared touch them !

Mrs. Carroll — My hair's grown so
much darker since then, and I'm getting
grey.

Mr. Arnold — (Drawing nearer.)
Grey! It's a libel! Not a single one.

Mrs. Carroll — There were — two or
three — but, to speak confidentially, I
pulled them out.

Mr. Arnold — It wasn't necessary.
You will be still more beautiful with
grey hair !

Mrs. Carroll — You didn't make com-
pliments at thirteen.

Mr. Arnold — No — I didn't dare.

Mrs. Carroll — And how do you dare
now.

Mr. Arnold — The courage of desper-
ation, I suppose. Here you are, still
young, more beautiful than ever — the
richest woman in the town ; the social
leader; able to lift and stir all these
women — and here am I, a lot older than
you are — and nothing but a milk inspec-
tor!

Mrs. Carroll — You haven't had
much personal ambition, have you?

Mr. Arnold — No, I haven't. But I
might — if I were encouraged.

Mrs. Carroll — Mr. Arnold ! I am so
glad to find you are my old friend. And
to think that you do — perhaps — value
my opinion.

Mr. Arnold — You're right as to that.
That's what discouraged me when you
married Carroll ; and when I heard that
you had become a mere society woman —
You've got a good mind, always had, but
you don't use it.

Mrs, Carroll — You do think I have a
mind then?

Mr. Arnold — Indeed I do! A first-
class one !

Mrs. Carroll — Then let me persuade
you to speak for this milk bill, Mr.
Arnold ! And I do hope in your speech —
you'll mention the excellent influence —

on the milk, you know — of Mr. Billings'
company.

Mr. Arnold — Why — I shall have to
tell what I know, Mrs. Carroll; you
want the facts.

Mrs. Carroll — Of course we want
the facts ! But — having Mr. Billings'
milk to be tested — and Mr. Billings
here — and he being a good friend of
mine — I'm particularly anxious to have
his reputation thoroughly established.

Mr. Arnold — I see. And if I said
anything against Mr. Billings, we should
meet as strangers?

Mrs. Carroll— Not at all, Mr. Arn-
old ! It's the milk we're talking about
— not Mr. Billings.

Mr. Arnold — I beg pardon — I under-
stand ! (Re-enter Mr. B. c. Exit Mr.
A. r.)

Mr. Billings — (Coming to Mrs. C.)
I began to think I shouldn't have a
chance to see you at all !

Mrs. Carroll — Why I'm quite con-
spicuous, I'm sure, — in the chair !

Mr. Billings — Ah! But I like best to
see you alone !

Mrs. Carroll — No one sees me when
I'm alone !

Mr. Billings — You can joke about it,
Mrs. Carroll; it is a very serious matter
to me. You must know how much I
care for you — how long I have been de-
voted to you. You know I'm an ambi-
tious man, Mrs. Carroll. I must be to
dare hope for you! There are things I
can't speak of yet — big chances in poli-
tics— if I had you with me — with your
beauty and fascinating ways — By Hea-
vens ! There's no place I wouldn't try for.
(Walks up and doivn excitedly.) I
never wanted anything so much in my
life — as I want you. When will you
give me an answer?

Mrs. Carroll — Certainly not now,
Mr. Billings.

Mr. Billings — W^hen the meeting is
over?

Mrs. Carroll— Perhaps— when the
meeting is over.

(Enter Miss Turner c. with bag and
papers.)

Mrs. Carroll (rises, and goes to her.
Mr. B. turns oway)— Well, Miss Tur-
ner, are you going to set us to work
again ?

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149

Miss Turner — I hope I don't inter-
rupt

AIrs. Carroll — Interrupt! Why this
is a club meeting. Miss Turner ! Are
we ready now?

Miss Turner — Perhaps, if you'd have
the maid bring in the sample.

Mrs. Carroll — Oh, yes. (Rings.
Enter maid r.)

Mrs. Carroll — Bring in the bottle of
milk, Louise. (Exit maid r. Re-enter
Dr. S. and Mr. A. c.)

Mrs. Billings (jocularly) — I'm to
be the scapegoat for the sins of the
whole community, I see !

Mrs. Carroll — You are going to
clear the good name of our milk sup-
ply, Mr. Billings.

(Re-enter maid r. witJi bottle of milk,
sets it on table I. f.)

Mrs. Carroll — Here it is ! The best
milk in town. (They all approach
table.)

Mr. Billings (takes it up) — That's
mine, all right. Name blown in the bot-
tle, sealed with paraffine, air-tight from
cow to customer, Mr. Arnold !

Mr. Arnold (examining bottle) —
Looks like good milk, Mr. Billings.

Mr. Billings — It is good milk, ]\Ir.
Arnold; there's none better in the mar-
ket! We're not afraid of your exam-
ination.

Mr. Arnold — Do you send out a uni-
form quality?

Mr. Billings — Well, hardly that, of
course. W^e have some with less butter
fat, comes a cent or two lower — but it's
all pure milk.

Dr. Strong (to A. aside) — Get 'em to
look at your papers — call 'em off!

Mr. Arnold — Have you seen our of-
ficial cards, Mrs. Carroll? (Takes out
papers. They turn to him. The doctor
whips out bottle of milk from her bag
and changes it for the one on the table.
Billings hears her and turns around.
Conies over to table and takes bottle up.
Starts. Others turn also.)

Dr. Strong — What's the matter?

Mr. Billings — JNIatter? Why— noth-
ing.

Dr. Strong — Name blown in the bot-
tle all right? Paraffine seal all right?
(All come to look.)

Mr. Billings — Yes, yes, it's all right.
(Moves off evidently perturbed.)

Mrs. Carroll — What is it? Any-
thing wrong with the milk?

Mr. Billings — No, no, certainly not.

Mrs. Carroll— Well, Miss Turner, I
think we must collect our audience.
(They go out. c.)

Dr. Strong — Can I be of assistance?
(Follozvs zvith a meaning glance at Mr.
A. ivho is by the table.)

(Mr. B. zvith sudden determination
zvalks szviftly to the table to take milk
bottle. Mr. A. sei:::es it.)

Mr. Billings — Excuse me, Mr. Ar-
nold— but there's a mistake here! This
is not the milk I sent Mrs. Carroll — ^by
some error it's a bottle of our second
quality. I'd hate to have her find it out.
I've got my car here and I'm just going
to run off and change this — it won't take
but a minute !

Mr. Arnold (holding the bottle) — I
don't think you'd better, Mr. Billings.
It would look badly. There's really no
time.

Mr. Billings (agitated) — I guess
you're right. See here — this is a very
important matter to me — more important
than you know. . . . This bottle is
not my best milk — but — but I'd be much
obliged to you if it tested well

Mr. Arnold (drily) — I hope it will.

j\Ir. Billings — Look here, Arnold,
confound it ! They'll all be back in a
minute! Here! Quick! (Passes him a
bill.)

AIr. Arnold (takes it. Looks at it,
both sides) — I'm not in the habit of tak-
ing bribes, Mr. Billings.

Mr. Billings — Sh ! I can see that —
you are so stiff about it ! For goodness
sake, man, see me through this foolish
hen-party and I'll make it well worth
your while ! Come, put that in your
pocket for this one occasion, you under-
stand !

Mr. Arnold — Well — just for this one
occasion! (Puts bill in pocket.)

(Ladies all re-enter r. I. c. and take
scats. Meeting called to order. Mrs. C. in
chair as before; I. /., bustle, talk.)

Mrs. Carroll (rapping on table) —
Will the meeting please come to order.
I think, since it is already so late — and
since we have such important — er — such
an important — question to discuss, it will
be as well to postpone the regular order
of business until our next meeting. I'm

150

Something To Vote For

sure you will be glad to have our discus-
sion opened with a few words from Mr.
Billings. Mr. Billings is the head of the
milk business here, and knows more
about it than any man in town. It is his
milk which we are to have tested this
afternoon — and he is proud to have it so
— aren't you, Mr. Billings? (Smiles at
him. )

Mr. Billings (rather constrainedly)
— Yes ; yes.

Mrs. Carroll — Now, do talk to us a
little, Mr. BilHngs. Won't you please
come forward.

Mr. Billings (rising in his place) —
Madam President, and ladies, also Mr.
Inspector : I feel it to be an honor to be
here to-day to meet so many of the lead-
ing ladies of our community ; to see so
many fair faces — hear so many sweet
voices — take the hand of so many I am
proud to number among my friends. I
wish to congratulate this club on its new
president (botv.^ to Mrs. Carroll.) — a
lady whose presence carries a benefac-
tion wherever she goes. (Applause.)
In these days, when so many misguided
and unwomanly women are meeting to-
gether for all manner of unnecessary
and sometimes utterly mistaken purposes,
it is a genuine pleasure to find here so
many true women of that innate refine-
ment which always avoids notoriety.
(Takes out large ivhitc handkerchief and
zvipes face.) The subject upon which I
have been asked to address you is one
which appeals to the heart of every
woman — milk for babes ! The favorite
food of our children, the mainstay of
the invalid, the foundation of all deli-
cate cookery !

It has been my pleasure, ladies, and
my pride to have helped in serving this
community with pure and healthful milk
for many years past.

Our new organization, of which there
is now so much discussion in the public
press, is by no means the evil some
would have you believe. I speak as one
who knows. This is not the place for
dry financial statistics, but I assure you
that through this combination of milk
dealers which has been recently effected
you will have cheaper milk than has ever
been given here before, and a far more
regular and reliable service. For the
quality we must trust to the opinion of

these experts (zvaz'es his hand to Dr.
Strong and Mr. Arnold) ; but for the
wish to serve your best interests, and
for a capacity in service developed
through years of experience, you may
always count upon yours truly. ( Bozvs
and sits. Stir and murmurs of ap-
proval. Applause.)

Mrs. a. — Isn't he interesting.

Mrs. B. — Just what I think.

Mrs. Carroll — I'm sure we are all
very grateful to Mr. Billings for giving
us so much of his valuable time. It is so
interesting, in this study of large general
questions, to get information from the
fountain head. And now we shall learn
the medical side of it from a most com-
petent authority. Ladies, I take pleas-
ure in introducing my dear friend. Dr.
Strong, who will speak to us on — what
do you call it. Doctor?

Dr. Strong (coming forzvard) — Let
us call it The Danger of Impure Milk.
(Stands a moment, looking earnestly at
them.) We all love babies. We love
our own babies best of all, naturally.
We all want to feed our babies well, and
some of us can't do it ourselves. Next
to the Mother, the most important food
supplier for our children is the Cow.
Milk is the most valuable article of food
for little children.

I suppose you all know that bottle-
fed babies die faster than breast-fed —
by far; they die mostly in summer, and
from enteric and diarrheal diseases.
(Reads from notes.) 17,437 babies un-
der a year old died in New York in 1907 ;
1,315 died in Boston between June 1st
and November 30th of that same year —
in six months. In Fall River, at that
time, more than 300 out of 1,000 died —
nearly one-third. In New York, in five
years, over 23,000 children of all ages
died of measles, scarlet fever and diph-
theria combined, and in the same time
over 26,000 babies under two years died
of diarrheal diseases. Out of 1,91:3
cases of these infantile diseases, in New
York, only three per cent were breast-
fed.

Now, ladies, this class of diseases
comes from bacteria, and the bacteria
come, in the vast majority of cases,
from the milk. You see, the bottle-fed
baby does not get its supply directly
from the source, as when fed by its

The Forerunner

151

mother; between the Cow and the Baby
stands the Milkman. The Milkman is
not a mother. I really believe that if
mothers ran the milk business they
would not be willing to poison other
women's babies even to make money for
their own !

The producer and distributer of milk
has small thought for the consumers'
interests. To protect the consumer, the
law now provides the ]\Iilk Inspector.
But the Milk Inspector has on one side
a few alert business men, often ready to
pay well to protect their interests, and
on the other the great mass of apathetic
citizens, who do not take the trouble to
protect their own.

The discussion to-day is in the hope
of rousing this club to see the vital im-
portance of pure milk for our children,
and to urge its members to use their in-
fluence to secure it.

By the kind permission of your presi-
dent I have brought with me a resident
of a less fortunate part of the town,
that she may give you a personal experi-
ence. ]\Irs. O'Shane, will you please
come to the platform? (The little wo-
man in black rises, hestitates, sits down
again. )

Mrs. Carroll — Won't you please
make room, ladies? (She comes down
and escorts Mrs. O'Shane to platform.
Airs. O'Shane much agitated.)

Dr. Strong — Brace up, Mrs. O'Shane.
It's for little Patsy's sake, you know.
He's gone, but there are many more.

Mrs. O'Shane — Indade there are,
thank Hiven ! It's not too late for the
others! The street's full ov thim ! If
ye please, ladies, did any of you ever
lose a child?

Mrs. Carroll (coming to her and
taking her hand)^I have, Mrs. O'Shane.
(Sits again.)

Mrs. O'Shane — There's many, I don't
doubt. But ye have the consolation of
knowin' that your children had all done
that could be done for thim. An' ours
dies on us every summer — such a many
of thim dies — an' we can't help it. They
used to tell us 'twas the Hand 'o God,
and then they said 'twas the hot weather,
and now they're preachin' it to us
everywhere that 'tis the milk does it!
The hot weather is bad, because thim
things that's in the milk shwarms thicker

and faster — thim little bugs that kills
our babies. ... If ye could have
seen my little Patsy ! He was the han'-
somest child, an' the strongest! Walkin'
he was — and him hardly a year old !
An' he was all I had — an' me a widder !
An', of course, I took the best milk I
could get ; but all the milk in our parts
comes from the Trust — an' sisteen cents
a quart for thim fancy brands I could
not pay. An', just think of it — even if
I could, there's not enough of that sort
to go around! There's so many of us!
We have no choice, and we have no
money to pay for the extras, an' we
must give our babies the milk that is
sold to us — an' they die ! . . .

I know I should care most for the
hundreds an' thousands of thim — an' for
Mrs. Casey's twins that died in a week
last summer, an' three of Mrs. Flah-
arty's, an' even thim little blackies on
Bay street ; but I care the most for my
Little Patsy — havin' but the wan !
Ladies, if you could have seen him! The
hair on his head was that soft ! — an' all
in little rings o' curls ! An' his cheeks
like roses — before he took sick; an' his
little feet was that pretty — an' he'd kick
out so strong and bold with them! An'
he could stand up, and he was beginning
to hold on the chairs like — an' he'd catch
me by the skirts an' look up at me with
such a smile — an' pull on me he would,
an' say Mah ! J\Iah ! An' what had I
to give him but the milk? And the milk
killed him. ... I beg your pardon,
ladies, but it breaks my heart! (She
cries. Mrs. Carroll comforts her, cry-
ing too. Many handkerchiefs out. Mrs.
Carroll rises up, repressing emotion.)

]\Irs. Carroll — Ladies, we will now
hear from our new Inspector, Mr. Ar-
nold. (Mr. Arnold conies forward and
boii's.)

Mr. Arnold — I fear cold facts will
make but little impression after this
moving appeal. Mrs. O'Shane has given
you the main points in the case. ]\Iost
people are poor. Most milk is poor. And
the poorest milk goes to the poorest peo-
ple. The community must protect itself.
The Inspector has no power except to
point out defects in the supply. Action
must be taken to enforce the law, and
unless the public does its duty there is
often no action taken. (Reads from

152

Something To Vote For

paper.) Dr. Strong has given you some
figures as to the mortahty among babies.
There is also a heavy death rate for
adults from contaminated milk, as in the
case of the typhoid fever outbreak in
Stamford, Conn., in 1895, when 160
cases were reported in nine days, 147 of
which had all used milk from one dairy-
man. In about six weeks 386 cases
were reported ; of these 352 took milk
from that one dealer, and four more got
it from him indirectly. His dairy was
closed, and in two weeks the outbreak
had practically subsided.

Typhoid fever, scarlet fever and dip-
theria, as well as many less common dis-
eases, are spread by infected milk.

The inspection service watches both
the producer and distributor; examining
the dairy farm as to the health of the
cattle, the nature of their surroundings,
the care given them, the methods of
milking, bottling, and so on; and look-
ing to the milkmen in each step of handl-
ing, carriage and delivery.

In judging milk there are three main
questions to be considered : Its compara-
tive quality as good milk ( the percent-
age of butter-fats, etc.) ; its cleanliness
(dirty milk is always likely to carry dis-
ease) ; and its freedom from adultera-
tion — from the primative pump-water
and starch down to the subtler and more
dangerous commercial methods of to-
day.

I have been asked to show you a sim-
ple test or two — such as might be used
at home. These do not require chemical
or bacteriological analysis, a microscope
or a lactometer ; merely a fine cloth
{produces it) and a little iodine {pro-
duces that).

{The ladies lean forzuard eagerly. Mr.
Billings looks indifferent.)

Mr. Arnold — Please understand,
ladies, that neither of these tests proves
anything absolutely harmful. I feel ex-
tremely awkward in testing a bottle of
the Billings Company milk in the pres-
ence of Mr. Billings. Please remember
that the Billings Company has many
supply dairies. If this one bottle should
not prove first-class it is no direct re-
proach to your guest.

Mr. Billings — Ladies, I do not ask
any excuses. The Billings Company is
reliable.

Mrs. Carroll — We have every con-
fidence in this milk, Mr. Billings ; that
is why I asked for the test.

Mr. Arnold — May I ask for another
vessel — a pitcher or milk bottle?

{Mrs. Carroll rings. Enter Louise,
r.)

Mrs. Carroll — Bring another pitcher,
Louise, and an empty milk bottle —
clean. ( Exit Louise, r., and returns
with them, r., ivhile Mr. Arnold con-
tinues.)

AIr. Arnold — Only two things are to
be decided by this little test — whether
the milk is clean, and whether it has
starch in it. If it is clean milk, accord-
ing to our standard, there will be but a
slight smear on the cloth when it is
strained. {He puts cloth over top of
pitcher, pushing it dozvn inside, and
fastens it zvith string or rubber band;
then solemnly pours in most of the milk.
Buzz among ladies.)

Mr. Arnold — While this is straining,
I will apply the iodine test to what re-
mains in the bottle. If there is starch
in it, it will turn blue. {Pours zvater
from a glass into the bottle, adds a fezv
drops of iodine, shakes it, holds it tip be-
fore them. It is blue.)

Mrs. W., Mrs. B., Mrs. G. {together)
—Oh ! Look at that ! Just think of it !

{Mr. Billings much confused, but un-
able to escape.)

Mr. Arnold — I'm afraid one of the
supplying dairymen thins his milk and
whitens it. Starch is not dangerous.
Dirt is. We will now examine our
strainer. {Holds up cloth. A heavy,
dark deposit is shozvn. There is a tense
silence.)

Mrs. O'Shane {suddenly rising up)
That's what killed my Patsy! {Points
at Mr. Billings.) An' 'twas him that did
it! {Commotion.)

Mr. Billings (rising) — Ladies, I de-
mand to be heard ! You have all known
me for years. Most of you take my
milk. You know it is good. There is
some mistake; that is not the milk that
should have been delivered here.

Mrs. Carroll — Evidently not.

Mrs. O'Shane — No! 'Tis not the
milk for the rich — 'tis the milk for the
poor !

Mr. Billings — Ladies, I protest ! My
standing in this community — my years

The Forerunner

153

of service — ought to give me your con-
fidence long enough to look into this
matter. I must find out from which of
my suppliers this inferior milk has come.
We will have a thorough overhauling, I
assure you. I had no idea any such milk
was being handled by us.

Mr. Arnold — Then why did you give
me this bill? {Shozvs marked bill.) This
was handed to me a few moments ago
by Mr. Billings to ensure my giving him
a favorable test. It is the first time I
ever held a bribe — even for evidence.

Dr. Strong (coming forzvard) —
Ladies, I wish to clear Mr. Arnold of
even a moment's suspicion. I knew the
Milk Trust would not bear inspection, so
I urged Mr. Arnold to take the money,
if it was oft'ered, and bring it out in evi-
dence. There it is.

AIr. Billings — I suspected as much !
This is admitted to be a conspiracy be-
tween our new doctor and our new in-
spector. But I trust, ladies, that more
than the word of two strangers will be
required to condemn an old friend and
fellow-citizen.

Dr. Strong — I gave you that bill, Mr.
Billings ; it's the one you changed for
me just now. That much of a conspir-
acy I admit.

Mr. Billings — So you and your ac-
complice had it all framed up to knife
me ! And is your word and his — a man
whose very admission proves him a venal
scoundrel — to stand against mine? Do
you think I had but one hundred-dollar
bill about me?

Dr. Stiiong — I doubt if you had more
than one with a red mark in the middle

of the top — on both sides! {Mrs. Car-
roll suddenly takes up bill and examines
it. Rises.)

Mrs. Carroll — It was a painful sur-
prise to find the quality of milk which
has been served to me, but it is more
painful to see that it was evidently
known to be bad. Ladies, I saw Dr.
Strong mark that bill. I saw her give it
to him in change for smaller ones.

Mrs. O'Shane — Sure, an' I saw him
pass it to the man !

Mrs. Carroll — Ladies, if you will
kindly move a little I think Air. Billings
would be glad to pass out. (They make
"ccay for him and he goes out, turns at
door and shakes fist at Mr. Arnold.)

Mr. Billings — You'll lose your job,
yotmg man ! I have some power in this
town !

Mrs. Carroll — And so have I, Mr.
Billings. I'll see that Mr. Arnold keeps
his place. We need him. You said this
club could carry the town ; that we wo-
men could do whatever we wanted to
here — with our "influence" ! Now we
see what our "influence" amounts to !
Rich or poor, we are all helpless together
unless we wake up to the danger and
protect ourselves. That's what the bal-
lot is for, ladies — to protect our homes !
To protect our children ! To protect the
children of the poor ! I'm willing to vote
now! I'm glad to vote now! I've got
something to vote for! Friends, sisters,
all who are in favor of woman suffrage
and pure milk say Aye !

(Clubzvomen all rise and wave their
Jiandker chiefs, zvith cries of "Aye!"
"Aye!") curtain.

A DIET UNDESIRED

He was set to keep a flock of sheep.

And they seemed to him too slow ;

So he took great pains to improve their brains

With food to make them grow.

But they would not eat the high-spiced meat
For all that he could say;

His scorn was wasted and the food untasted-
P'or the sheep weren't made that way !

He would make them take his good beefsteak !
So he raged day after day ;
But his anger deep was lost on the sheej
I'or they were not made that way !

154

HAPPINESS AND RELIGION

THE consolations of religion" have
been offered to us with age long
reiteration. Persons who were
healthy and happy, and so felt
no need of consolation, were apt to be
similarly indifferent to religion ; and those
who labored to convert them were
obliged to fall back on gloomy prog-
nostications, saying, "One of these days
trouble will come to you ; then you will
feel the need of religion."

This was an unfortunate association
of ideas, for no person likes to antici-
pate misery. There is an attitude
among some Socialists closely akin to
the above, they holding that poverty
must increase until, by some social
alchemy, extreme unhappiness drives
men into Socialism.

Increase of poverty is considered to
lead to Socialism as increase of misery
to religion, and in both cases the effect
on an average mind is one of preferred
postponement. If one can avoid the
misery, why bother with religion? If
one can avoid the poverty, why bother
with Socialism ? Perhaps the average
mind is not wise in its feelings, but it
is here to be dealt with none the less.

It is true that a satisfying religion
is "a very present help in time of trou-
ble." If we know that the general
management of things is good, we can
stand a temporary personal mishap
with equanimity.

But this is by no means the main
use of one's basic faith. If it were,
if the chief power of religion was as a
solace, a comforter, a hope and promise
for the future to those whose present
is miserable, then it would lose its hold
as the happiness of the world increased-
If the advance of Socialism were best
promoted by the advance of poverty,
then it would be hindered by the gen-
eral gain in wealth.

The appeal of Socialism is to each
of us, rich and poor, offering greater
happiness to all ; and the appeal of re-
ligion should be the same. Let us
have, not only the consolations of re-
ligion, but its congratulations ! What
has religion to say of happiness?

A successful God surely requires the
rich fulfillment of the known laws of
life, and that fulfillment means happi-
ness. We have in our range of con-

sciousness the whole scale of joy now
known, and unmeasured possibilities
beyond that.

Mere physical existance, rightly car-
ried out, means happiness. As healthy
animals we should experience, from
glad uprising to peaceful lying down,
the steady well being of quiet nerves,
normal digestion, and the orderly per-
formance of functions, each bringing
its own satisfaction. Just being heal-
thy makes life one long contentment,
and is itself a primal duty. What has
religion to say to a healthy person?
And what has a healthy person to say
to religion? It should be to us not a
sort of accident insurance, but an as-
surance of well being.

vSeeing life to be a good and pleasant
thing, the world a garden in the mak-
ing (not a garden lost!) and mankind
engaged in a majestic upward prog-
ress; finding ourselves personally com-
fortable and clearly on the road to
great joy, what place has religion in
such a scheme of things?

It has the most vital and important
position ; it is the great equalizer, di-
rector, promoter of all this blessedness.
It is not a mere system of therapeutics
for sick souls, but a science of practical
ps3^chology for well ones.

Religion should give to the mind a
clear, satisfying explanation of life,
not based on a hotly defended revela-
tion, but on common knowledge ; a
glad sense of assured respect for the
Central Power, of absolute confidence
in and enjoyment of it as a Working
Force, w^ell proven ; and lines of con-
duct laid out so clearly that any nor-
mal child could see why this is right
and that is wrong.

No vague mystery in this religion of
our children, but well-established
facts : requiring no stultification of the
intellect, but full use of our best in-
telligence ; no abnegation and surren-
der of the will, but the fullest exercise
of that vital power.

Such a religion recognizes happiness
as the norm of life, the health of the
soul ; and shows the way to it. Then
we shall not say, "Ah, wait till you are
in trouble ; then you will need relig-
ion!" but, "Ah, let us make you happy;
then you will appreciate religion!"

The Forerunner

155

THE CRUX

chapter vi.
New Friends and Old.

There is hope till life is through, my dear!

And wonders never cease;
'Twould be too bad to be true, my dear,

If all one's swans were geese!

VIVIAN'S Startled cry of wel-
come was heard by Susie,
perched on the stairs with
several eager youths gathered
as close as might be about her, and
several pairs of hands helped her swift
descent to greet her brother.

]\Iiss Orella, dropping Air. Dyke-
man's arm, came flying from the ball-
room.

"Oh Morton ! Morton ! When did you
come? Why didn't you let us know?
Oh, my dear boy !"

She haled him into their special par-
lor— took his hat away from him —
pulled out the most comfortable chair —

"Have you had supper? And to think
that we haven't a room for you ! But
there's to be one vacant — next week.
I'll see that there is. You shall have
my room, dear boy. Oh I am so glad
to see you !"

Susie gave him a sisterly hug, while
he kissed her, somewhat gingerly, on
the cheek ; and then perched herself on
the arm of a chair and gazed upon him
with affectionate interest. Vivian, her
arm around Susie, gazed also, busily
engaged in fitting present facts to past
memories.

Surely he had not looked just like
that! The Morton of her girlhood's
dream had a clear complexion, a bright
eye, a brave and gallant look — only the
voice was not different.

But here was Morton in present fact,
something taller, it seemed, and a good
deal heavier, well dressed in a rather
vivid way, and making merry over his
aunt's devotion.

"Well, if it doesn't seem like old
times to have Aunt 'Rella running
'round like a hen with her head cut off,
to wait on me." The simile was not
unjust, though certainly ungracious,
but his aunt was far too happy to re-
sent it.

"You sit right still !" she said. "I'll

go and bring you some supper. You
must be hungry."

"Now do sit down and hear to rea-
son, Auntie !" he said, reaching out a
detaining hand and pulling her into a
seat beside him. "I'm not hungry a
little bit ; had a good feed on the diner.
Never mind about the room — I don't
know how long I can stay — and I left
my grip at the Allen House anyway.
How well you're looking, Auntie ! I
declare I'd hardly have known you !
And here's little Susie — a regular belle !
And Vivian — don't suppose I dare call
you Vivian now. Miss Lane?"

Vivian gave a little embarrassed
laugh. If he had used her first name
she would never have noticed it. Now
that he asked her, she hardly knew
what answer to make, but presently
said :

"Why, of course, I always call you
Morton."

"Well, I'll come when you call me,"
he cheerfully replied, leaning forward,
elbows on knees, and looking around
the pretty room.

"How well you're fixed here. Guess
it was a wise move, Aunt 'Rella. But
I'd never have dreamed you'd do it.
Your Dr. Bellair must have been a
powerful promoter to get you all out
here. I wouldn't have thought any-
body in Bainville could move — but me.
Why, there's Grandma, as I live !" and
he made a low bow.

Mrs. Pettigrew, hearing of his ar-
rival from the various would-be part-
ners of the two girls, had come to the
door and stood there regarding him
with a non-committal expression. At
this address she frowned perceptibly.

"My name is Mrs. Pettigrew, young
man. I've known you since you were
a scallawag in short pants, but I'm no
Grandma of yours."

"A thousand pardons! Please ex-
cuse me, Mrs. Pettigrew," he said with
exaggerated politeness. "\\^on't you
be seated?" And he set a chair for her
with a flourish.

"Thanks, no," she said. "I'll go
back" — and went back forthwith, at-
tended by Mr. Skee.

156

The Crux

"One of these happy family re-
unions, ma'am?" he asked with approv-
ing interest. "If there's one thing I
do admire, it's a happy surprise."

" 'Tis some of a surprise," Mrs. Pet-
tigrew admitted, and became rather
glum, in spite of Mr. Skee's undeniably
entertaining conversation.

"Some sort of a fandango going on?"
Morton asked after a few rather stiff
moments. "Don't let me interrupt?
On with the dance ! Let joy be uncon-
fined ! And if she must" — he looked
at Vivian, and went on somewhat
lamely — "dance, why not dance with
me? May I have the pleasure. Miss
Lane?"

"Oh, no," cried Miss Orella, "We'd
much rather be with you !"

"But I'd rather dance than talk, any
time," said he, and crooked his elbow
to' Vivian with an impressive bow.

Somewhat uncertain in her own
mind, and unwilling to again disap-
point Fordham Greer, who had already
lost one dance and was visibly waiting
for her in the hall, the girl hesitated;
but Susie said, "Go on, give htm part
of one. I'll tell Mr, Greer." So Vivian
took Morton's proffered arm and re-
turned to the floor.

She had never danced with him in
the old days ; no special memory was
here to contrast with the present; yet
something seemed vaguely wrong. He
danced well, but more actively than
she admired ; and during the rest of the
evening devoted himself to the various
ladies with an air of long usage.

She was glad when the dancing was
over and he had finally departed for
his hotel ; glad when Susie had at last
ceased chattering and dropped reluc-
tantly to sleep.

For a long time she lay awake try-
ing to straighten out things in her
mind and account to herself for the
sense of vague confusion which op-
pressed her.

Morton had come back ! That was
the prominent thing, of which she re-
peatedly assured herself. How often
she had looked forward to that mo-
ment, and felt in anticipation a vivid
joy. She had thought of it in a hun-
dred ways, always with pleasure, but

never in this particular way — among
so many strangers.

It must be that which confused her,
she thought, for she was extremely
sensitive to the attitude of those about
her. She felt an unspoken criticism of
Morton on the part of her new friends
in the house, and resented it, yet in
her own mind a faint comparison
would obtrude itself between his man-
ners and those of Jimmie Saunders or
Mr. Greer, for instance. The young
Scotchman she had seen regarding
Morton with an undisguised dislike;
and this she inwardly resented, even
while herself disliking his bearing to
his aunt — and to her grandmother.

It was all contradictory and unsatis-
fying, and she fell asleep saying over
to herself, "He has come back! He
has come back!" and trying to feel
happy.

Aunt Orella was happy at any rate.
She would not rest until her beloved
nephew was installed in the house,
practically turning out Mr. Gibbs in
order to accommodate him. Morton
protested, talked of business and of
having to go away at any time ; and
Mr. Gibbs, who still "mealed" with
them, secretly wished he would.

But Morton did not go away. It
was a long time since he had been
petted and waited on, and he enjoyed
it hugely, treating his aunt with a serio-
comic affection that was sometimes
funny, sometimes disagreeable.

At least Susie found it so. Her first
surprise over, she fell back on a fund
of sound common sense, strengthened
by present experience, and found a
good deal to criticise in her returned
brother. She was so young when he
left, and he had teased her so unmer-
cifully in those days, that her early
memories of him were rather mixed in
sentiment, and now he appeared, not
as the unquestioned idol of a manless
family in a well-nigh manless town,
but as one among many; and of those
many several were easily his superiors.

He was her brother, and she loved
him, of course ; but there were so many
wanting to be "brothers" if not more,
and they were so much more polite!
Morton petted, patronized and teased

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157

her, and she took it all in good part,
as after the manner of brothers, but
his demeanor with other people was
not to her mind.

His adoring aunt, finding no fault
whatever with this well-loved nephew,
lavished upon him the affection of her
unused motherhood, and he seemed to
find it a patent joke, open to every-
one, that she should be so fond.

To this Mrs. Pettigrew took great
exception, and, indeed, to his general
walk and conversation.

"Fine boy — Rella's nephew!" she
said to Dr. Bellair late one night when,
seeing a light over her neighbor's tran-
som, she dropped in for a little chat.
Conversation seemed easier for her
here than in the atmosphere of Bain-
ville.

"Fine boy — eh? Nice complexion!"

Dr. Bellair was reading a heavy-
weight book, by a heavier weight spec-
ialist. She laid it down, took off her
eyeglasses, and rubbed them.

"Better not kiss him," she said.

"I thought as much I" said Grandma.
I thought as much! Huh!"

"Nice world, isn't it?" the doctor
suggested genially.

"Nothing the matter with the world,
that I know of," her visitor answered.

"Nice people, then — how's that?"

"Nothing the matter with the peo-
ple but foolishness — plain foolishness.
Good land ! Shall we never learn any-
thing !"

"Not till it's too late apparently,"
the doctor gloomily agreed, turning
slowly in her swivel chair. "That boy
never was taught anything to protect
him. What did Rella know? Or for
that matter, what do any boys' fathers
and mothers know? Nothing, you'd
think. If they do, they won't teach it
to their children."

"Time they did !" said the old lady
decidedly. "High time they did ! It's
never too late to learn. I've learned
a lot out of you and your books, Jane
Bellair. Intersting reading! I don't
suppose you could give an absolute
opinion now, could you?'

"No," said Dr. Bellair gravely, "no,
I couldn't; not yet, anyway."

"Well, we've got to keep our eyes

open," Mrs. Pettigrew concluded.
"When I think of that girl of mine — "

"Yes — or any girl," the doctor added.

"You look out for any girl — that's
your business; I'll look out for mine —
if I can."

Mrs. Pettigrew's were not the only
eyes to scrutinize Morton Elder.
Through the peep hole in the swing
door to the kitchen, Jeanne Jeaune
watched him darkly with one hand on
her lean chest.

She kept her watch on whatever
went on in that dining room, and on
the two elderly waitresses whom she
had helped Miss Elder to secure when
the house filled up. They were rather
painfully imattractive, but seemed like-
ly to stay where no young and pretty
damsel could be counted on for a year.
Morton joked with perseverance about
their looks, and those who were most
devoted to Susie seemed to admire his
wit, while Vivian's special admirers
found it pointless in the extreme.

"Your waitresses are the limit,
Auntie," he said, "but the cook is all to
the good. Is she a plain cook or a hand-
some one?"

"Handsome is as handsome does,
young man," Mrs. Pettigrew pointedly
replied. "Mrs. Jones is a first class
cook and her looks are neither here nor
there."

"You fill me with curiosity," he re-
plied. "I must go out and make her
acquaintance. I always get solid with
the cook ; it's worth while."

The face at the peep hole darkened
and turned away with a biter and de-
termined look, and Master Theophile
was hastened at his work till his dim
intelligence wondered, and then blessed
with an unexpected cookie.

Vivian, Morton watched and fol-
lowed assiduously. She was much
changed from what he remembered —
the young, frightened, slender girl he
had kissed under the lilac bushes, a kiss
long since forgotten among many.

Perhaps the very number of his sub-
sequent acquaintances during a varied
and not markedly successful career in
the newer states made this type of New
England womanhood more marked.
Girls he had kno\vn of various sorts ;

158

The Crux

women old and young had been kind
to him, for Morton had the rough good
looks and fluent manner which easily
find their way to the good will of many
female hearts; but this gentle refine-
ment of manner and delicate beauty
had a novel charm for him.

Sitting by his aunt at the table he
studied Vivian opposite ; he watched
her in their few quiet evenings to-
gether, under the soft lamplight on
Miss Elder's beloved "center table ;"
and studied her continually in the stim-
ulating presence of many equally de-
voted men.

All that was best in him was stirred
by her quiet grace, her reserved friend-
liness ; and the spur of rivalry was by
no means wanting. Both the girls had
their full share of masculine attention
in that busy houseful, each having her
own more particular devotees, and the
position of comforter to the others.

Morton became openly devoted to
Vivian, and followed her about, seeking
every occasion to be alone with her —
a thing difficult to accomplish.

"I don't ever get a chance to see
anything of you," he said. "Come on,
take a walk with me — won't you?"

"You can see me all day — practi-
cally," she answered. "It seems to me
that I never saw a man with so little
to do."

"Now that's too bad, Vivian ! Just
because a fellow's out of a job for a
while ! It isn't the first time, either ;
in my business you work like — like
anything, part of the time, and then get
laid off. I work hard enough when I'm
at it."

"Do you like it — that kind of work?"
the girl asked.

They were sitting in the family par-
lor, but the big hall was as usual well
occupied, and some one or more of the
boarders always eager to come in. Miss
Elder at this moment had departed for
special conference vAth her cook, and
Susie was at the theatre with Jimmie
Saunders. Fordham Greer had asked
Vivian, as had Morton also, but she
declined both on the ground that she
didn't like that kind of play. Mrs.
Pettigrew, being joked too persistently
about her fondness for "long whist,"
had retired to her room — but then, her

room was divided from the parlor only
by a thin partition and a door v/ith a
most inefficacious latch.

"Come over here by the fire," said
Morton, "and I'll tell you all about it."

He seated himself on a sofa, comfort-
ably adjacent to the fireplace, but Viv-
ian preferred a low rocker.

"I suppose you mean travelling —
and selling goods?" he pursued. "Yes,
I like it. There's lots of change — and
you meet people. I'd hate to be shut
up in an office."

"But do you — get anywhere with it?
Is there any outlook for you? Any-
thing worth doing?"

"There's a good bit of money to be
made, if you mean that ; that is, if a
fellow's a good salesman. I'm no
slouch myself, when I feel in the mood.
But it's easy come, easy go, you see.
And it's uncertain. There are times
like this, with nothing doing."

"I didn't mean money, altogether,"
said the girl meditatively, "but the
work itself ; I don't see any future for
you."

Morton was pleased with her inter-
est. Reaching between his knees he
seized the edge of the small sofa and
dragged it a little towards her, quite
unconscious that the act was distaste-
ful to her.

Though twenty-five years old, Viv-
ian was extremely young in many
ways, and her introspection had spent
itself in tending the inner shrine of his
early image. That ikon was now jar-
ringly displaced by his insistent pres-
ence, and she could not satisfy herself
yet as to whether the change pleased
or displeased her. Again and again his
manner antagonized her, but his visible
devotion carried an undeniable appeal,
and his voice stirred the deep well of
emotion in her heart.

"Look here, Vivian," he said, "you've
no idea how it goes through me to have
you speak like that ! You see I've been
knocking around here for all this time,
and I have'nt had a soul to take an
interest. A fellow needs the society of
good women — like you."

It is an old appeal, and always reach-
es the mark. To any woman it is a
compliment, and to a young girl,,
doubly alluring. As she looked at him,.

The Forerunner

159

the very things she most disliked, his
too free anner, his coarsened com-
plexion, a certain look about the eyes,
suddenly assumed a new interest as
proofs of his loneliness and lack of
right companionship. What Mrs. St.
Cloud had told her of the enobling in-
fluence of a true woman flashed upon
her mind.

"You see, I had no mother," he said
simply — "and Aunt Rella spoiled
me — " He looked now like the boy
she used to know.

"Of course I ought to have behaved
better," he admitted. "I was ungrate-
ful— I can see it now. But it did seem
to me I couldn't stand that town a day
longer !"

She could sympathize with this feel-
ing, and showed it.

"Then when a fellow knocks around
as I have so long, he gets to where he
doesn't care a hang for anything. See-
ing you again makes a lot of difference,
Vivian. I think, perhaps — I could take
a new start."

"Oh do ! Do !" she said eagerly.
You're young enough, Morton. You
can do anything if you'll make up your
mind to it."

"And you'll help me?"

"Of course I'll help you — if I can,"
said she.

A feeling of sincere remorse for
wasted opportunities rose in the young
man's mind ; also, in the presence of
this pure-eyed girl, a sense of shame for
his previous habits. He walked to the
window, his hands in his pockets, and
looked out blankly for a moment.

"A fellow does a lot of things he
shouldn't," he began, clearing his
throat; but she met him more than half
way with the overflowing generosity of
youth and ignorance :

"Never mind what you've done, Mor-
ton— you're going to do differently
now ! Susie'll be so proud of you — and
Aunt Orella!"

"And you?" He turned upon her
suddenly.

"Oh — I? Of course! I shall be very
proud of my old friend."

She met his eyes bravely, with a
lovely look of hope and courage, and
again his heart smote him.

"I hope you will," he said and

straightened his broad shoulders man-
fully.

"Morton Elder!" cried his aunt, bust-
ling in with deep concern in her voice,
"What's this I hear about you're hav-
ing a sore throat?"

"Nothing, I hope," said he cheer-
fully.

"Now. Morton" — Vivian showed
new solicitude — "you know you have
got a sore throat ; Susie told me."

"Well, I wish she'd held her ton-
gue," he protested. "It's nothing at
all — be all right in a jiffy. No, I won't
take any of your fixings. Auntie."

"I want Dr. Bellair to look at it,
anyhow." said his aunt, anxiously.
"She'll know if it's diptheretic or any-
thing. She's coming in."

"She can just go out again." he said
with real annoyance. "If there's any-
thing I've no use for it's a woman
doctor !"

"Oh hush, hush!" cried Vivian — too
late.

"Don't apoligize," said Dr. Belliar
from her doorway. "Who's got a sore
least offended. Indeed, I had rather
surmised that that was your attitude , I
didn't come in to prescribe, but to find
Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Want me?" inquired the old lady
from her doorway. "Who'se got a sore
throat?"

"Morton has," Vivian explained,
"and he won't let Aunt Rella — why
where is she?"

Miss Elder had gone out as suddenly
as she had entered.

"Camphor's good for sore throat,"
Mrs. Pettigrew volunteered. "Three or
four drops on a piece of sugar. Is it
the swelled kind, or the kind that
smarts?"

"Oh — Halifax !" exclaimed Morton,
disgustedly. "It isn't any kind. I
haven't a sore throat."

"Camphor's good for cold sores ; you
have one of them anyhow," the old lady
persisted, producing a little bottle and
urging it upon Morton. "Just keep it
wet with camphor as often as you think
of it, and it'll go away."

Vivian looked on, interested and
sympathetic, but ISIorton put his hand
to his lip and backed away.

"If you ladies don't stop trying to

160

The Crux

doctor me, I'll clear out tomorrow, so
there !"

This appalling threat was fortunately-
unheard by his aunt, who popped in
again at this moment, dragging Dr.
Hale with her. Dr. Bellair smiled
quietly to herself.

''I wouldn't tell him what I wanted
him for, or he wouldn't have come,
I'm sure — doctors are so funny," said
Miss Elder, breathlessly, "but here he
is. Now, Dr. Hale, here's a foolish
boy who won't listen to reason, and I'm
real worried about him. I want you to
look at his throat."

Dr. Hale glanced briefly at Morton's
angry face.

"The patient seems to be of age. Miss
Elder; and, if you'll excuse me, does
not seem to have authorized this call."

"My affectionate family are bound to
have me an invalid," Morton explained.
"I'm in imminent danger of hot baths,
cold presses, mustard plasters, aconite,
belladonna and quinine — and if I can
once reach my hat — "

He sidled to the door and fled in
mock terror.

"Thank you for your good inten-
tions. Miss Elder," Dr. Hale remarked
dryly. "You can bring water to the
horse, but you can't make him drink
it, you see."

"Now that that young man has gone,
we might have a game of whist," Mrs.
Pettigrew suggested, looking not ill-
pleased.

"For which you do not need me in
the least," and Dr. Hale was about to
leave, but Dr. Bellair stopped him.

"Don't be an everlasting Winter
woodchuck, Dick! Sit down and play ;
do be good. I've got to see old Mrs.
Graham yet ; she refuses to go to sleep
without it — knowing I'm so near. By

Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on playing

with Miss Elder, so Vivian had the
questionable pleasure of Dr. Hale as a
partner. He was an expert, used to
frequent and scientific play, and by no
means patient with the girl's mistakes.

He made no protest at a lost trick,
but explained briefly between hands,
what she should have remembered and
how the cards lay, till she grew quite
discouraged.

Her game was but mediocre, played
only to oblige ; and she never could see
why people cared so much about a
mere pastime. Pride came to her res-
cue at last ; the more he criticised, the
more determined she grew to profit by
all this advice ; but her mind would
wander now and then to Morton, to his
young life so largely wasted, it ap-
peared, and to what hope might lie be-
fore him. Could she be the help and
stimulus he seemed to think? How
much did he mean by asking her to
help him?

"Why waste a thirteenth trump on
your partner's thirteenth card?" Dr.
Hale was asking.

She flushed a deep rose color and
lifted appealing eyes to him.

"Do forgive me; my mind was else-
where."

"Will you not invite it to return?"
he suggested drily.

He excused himself after a few
games, and the girl at least was glad to
have him go. She wanted to be alone
with her thoughts.

Mrs. Pettigrew, sitting unaccount-
ably late at her front window, watched
the light burn steadily in the small
office at the opposite corner. Presently
she saw a familiar figure slip in there,
and, after a considerable stay, come
out quietly, cross the street, and let
himself in at their door.

"Huh!" said Mrs. Pettigrew.
{To be continued^

STONES

Let those cold stones that mark old bones

Be ground to dust and spread;

So grass shall grow more green below.

Trees more green overhead,

And youth and love laugh on above

Those well- forgotten dead.

The Forerunner

161

THE WILD OATS OF THE SOUL

WHEN Humanity was young,
very young, its new-born
Consciousness loomed large
within ; and each Individual
naturally supposed this mighty feel-
ing to be his own.

He called it His Soul.

He felt it to be different from the
Body, which he called Himself; from
the group of inherited reflexes he
called His Heart ; different even from
those Percepts and Processes he called
His Mind.

It was a big uneasy pushing thing,
now up, now down ; patently at vari-
ance with the personal activities he
called Life, always irritating him with
a desire for something farther.

To feed, to quiet, to satisfy this
young Soul, the mind of man began to
spin whole worlds of Theory, religious
and emotional — it did not want to
think, it wanted to feel, to feel strongly.
No matter how gross and cruel were
the Religions he first invented, the
ardent boisterous Young Soul plunged
gaily in, and lived them to the full.

In passionate ecstacy of self-torture,
in life-long immolation of anguished
self-surrender, and in merciless op-
pression of all who dared to differ,
this huge force poured itself out re-
sistlessly.

There were no limits to the excesses
of the wild Young Soul. Our poor
instincts were as nothing in its path ;
all common duties, all common plea-
sures, all common relations it ate in
a consuming fire; and those who had
not so much Soul, bowed down to those
who had.

But the Soul, growing from the care-
less cruelty of infancy to the period of
Ambition and Romance, outgrew its
taste for mutilation and torture, and
found new channels for its growing
powers.

Into the swelling hearts of Kings
and Conquerors it poured itself, first
in a mad rage for Conquest, then in
the growing glory of Statesmanship.

In art it found a fascinating medium
of expression; and to this day streams
fitfully along in form and color, sound

and motion ; though not so nobly as
of yore.

But its favorite outlet now was
along lines of love, not through the
still-locked doors of wide human af-
fection, but in the unbroken sweep of
love for an idea.

Urged by the growing demands of
our Great Prisoner, we built for it new
ideas of God; God as a Person, lov-
ing us and pining for our love.

Then rose the Soul and flowed forth
into space, triumphant.

Its gathering power, reflected from
our lives, poured in wide waves of
spiritual passion ; while we, relieved of
its compelling presence, were free to
plod along old easy paths of primitive
self-interest.

In those minds which could not erect
the God-idea to a sufficiently attract-
ive height and intensity (and they
were many), the one next to it was the
idea of sublimating the love of men
and women.

Allied and interwoven are these two
lines, and the still childish Soul, hasty
and undiscerning, rushed into both
with equal ardor ; spending hot per-
sonal devotion upon God ; and making
an exacting worship out of human
love ; with failure in either branded
apostasy.

Soul-driven man, in mad excesses
of emotion, worshipping now God and
now Woman (seldom both at once),
has filled wide fields of history with
the fruitless sheaves of the Wild Oats
of the Soul.

His passionate adoration of God re-
sulted in magnificent churches and as
magnificent sentiments, but did little
to promote the work of social de-
velopment.

His passoniate adoration of \\'oman
(that is of his woman), has resulted in
forming a creature not magnificent but
pitiful, and all his crimson glory of
wild worship has not prevented him
from degrading and exploiting her.

The hot-headed ill-directed young
Soul, pushing violently and irregularly
along, has mostly spent its force upon
wrong impulses.

162

That Obvious Purpose

Now new ideas of God have come to
us, and new ideas of Man, and we
begin to see the normal use of our
Great Common Power in lines of
natural living.

This is Our Soul, not mine and
yours ; its force is The Force of the
Universe.

It is not meant to "rest," it does
not need to be "saved," its one legiti-
mate demand is to be Used.

God pushes — we must act. No one
love can satisfy the Soul ; only to feel
and fill them all ; and then to Serve ;
no frenzied emotion is this Soul's life,
but strong and steady action; its vast
power of Feeling used in vast fields of
Doing.

The Soul must settle into happy
orderly relations with the world.

A reformed Soul makes the best
Social Servant.

THAT OBVIOUS PURPOSE

DR. SARGENT, of the Depart-
ment of Physical Culture at
Harvard, is again quoted on
the subject of the strength of
women. He says — or is said to ha^^^e
said, in this report — that in the sense
of being more enduring, women are su-
perior to men ; and then falls back on
that common and ancient androcentric
idea : "It is obvious that women are
built primarily with a single fixed and
definite purpose in view. This is the
bearing of children. Other characteris-
tics which can be ascribed to women
in general, radiate from this one pri-
mordial characteristic."

Quite possibly Dr. Sargent is misrep-
resented by the reporter, but the idea
is thrust forth again, as it has been so
many times before.

Is it not time that persons with some
knowledge of biology began to acknowl-
edge that this old idea is wrong?
It is true, of course, that females, as
such, are modified to the reproduction
of their species ; but so are males. It
is obvious that men are built primarily
with a single fixed and definite pur-
pose, and that other special male char-
acteristics radiate from this primordial
one — often painfully obvious.

It is equally obvious that men and
women have a preponderating array of
common human characteristics which
have no relation whatever to the pri-
mordial one. The erect posture, for in-
stance ; the degree of intellect common
to human beings; the instinct of w^ork-
manship ; the interest in scientific truth
and the pursuit of knowledge ; the love

of nature, of art, of amusement — in
short, all human characteristics ; these
belong to us as a race, as human crea-
tures, not as sexes.

If women had no other relation to
life than that of a queen bee, this cease-
less insistance on their feminine func-
tions might be justified, but, being
what they are, it is only explicable as
a piece of androcentric prejudice pure
and simple.

If some great overturn in public
thought and feeling should come to
pass so that the eyes of the world be-
came fixed with staring intensity on
the maleness of men ; if all education,
literature and art rang the changes
upon it continually, and even science
came solemnly along with platitudes
about the obviousness of masculine
characteristics, there would be a prompt
and just rebellion on the part of men.

Women are more patient. We have
been discussed and studied, honored
and despised, rewarded and punished
for thousands of years as females, al-
ways females ; and many of us have
grown to accept the male idea of us —
that we are nothing else.

Several millions of unmarried
women now filling useful and honored
places in the world, leading virtuous
and contented lives, could give valua-
ble testimony as to whether their exis-
tence is a verifiable fact^ or whether
they really did expire and vanish on
failure to fulfill that "single primordial
purpose." Men, living similarly, would
perhaps feel as much lack in the
"primordial purpose" as do women.

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163

MOVING THE MOUNTAIN

Synopsis: John Robertson, falling over a
precipice in Tibet, loses all recollection for
thirty years. He is found by his sister, re-
covers his memory, and returns home. On
the way he learns of great changes in his na-
tive land, and is not pleased. Arriving, he
cannot deny some improvements, but is still
dissatisfied. New food and new housekeeping
arrangements impress him ; better buildings
and great saving in money. As man to man
his new brother-in-law tells him of the change
in women and its effect on men.

CHAPTER VI.

OUT OF the mass of information
offered by my new family and
the pleasant friends we met,
together with the books and
publications profusely piling" around
me, I felt it necessary to make a spec-
ies of digest for my own consideration.
This I submitted to Nellie, Owen, and
one or two others, adding suggestions
and corrections ; and thus established
in my own mind a coherent view of
what had happened.

In the first place, as Owen repeat-
edly assured me, nothing was done —
finished — brought to static perfection.

"Thirty years isn't much, you see,"
he said cheerfully. "I dare say if you'd
been here all along you wouldn't think
it was such a great advance. We have
removed some obvious and utterly un-
necessary evils, and cleared the ground
for new beginnings ; but what we are
going to do is the exciting thing!

"Now you think it is so wonderful
that we have no poverty. We think
it is still more wonderful that a world
of even partially sane people could
have borne poverty so long."

We naturally discussed this point a
good deal, and they brought up a little
party of the new economists to en-
lighten me — Dr. Harkness, sociologist;
Mr. Alfred Brown, Department of Pro-
duction; Mrs. Allerton of the Local
Transportation Bureau ; and a young
fellow named Pike, who had written a
little book on "Distinctive Changes of
Three Decades," which I found very
useful.

"It was such a simple matter, after
all, you see," the Sociologist explained
to me, in an amiable class-room man-
ner.

"Suppose now you were considering
the poverty of one family, an isolated
family, sir. Now, if this family was
poor, it would be due to the limitations
of the individual or of the environ-
ment. Limitations of the individual
would cover inefficiency, false theory
of industry, ill-judged division of labor,
poor system of production, or misuse
of product. Limitation of environment
would, of course, apply to climate, soil,
natural products, etc. No amount of
health, intelligence or virtue could
make Iceland rich — if it was complete-
ly isolated ; nor England, for that mat-
ter, owing to the inexorable limita-
tions of that environment.

"Here in this country we have no
complaint to make of our natural re-
sources. The soil is capable of sus-
taining an enormous population. So
we have merely to consider the limita-
tions of individuals, transferring our
problem from the isolated family to the
general public.

"What do we find? All the limita-
tions I enumerated ! Inefficiency —
nearly every one below par in work-
ing power in the generation before
last, as well as miserably educated;
false theories of industry everywhere
— idiotic notions as to what work was
'respectable' and what wasn't, more
idotic notions of payment; worst of all,
most idotic idea that work was a curse
. . . Might as well call digestion a
curse ! Dear ! Dear ! How benighted
we were !

"Then there was ill-judged division
of labor — almost universal ; that evil
For instance, look at this one point;
half the workers of the w^orld, nearly,
were restricted to one class of labor,
and that in the lowest industrial
grade."

"He means women, in housework,
John," Nellie interpolated. "We never
used to think of that as part of our
economic problem."

"It was a very serious part," the pro-
fessor continued, hastily forestalling
the evident intention of Mr. Brown to
strike in, "but there were many others.
The obvious utility of natural special-
ization in labor seemed scarcely to oc-

164

Moving the Mountain

cur to us. Our system of production
was archaic in the extreme ; practically
710 system was followed."

"You must give credit to the work
of the Department of Agriculture, Dr.
Harkness," urged Mr. Brown, "the in-
troduction of new fruits, the improve-
ment of stocks "

"Yes, yes," agreed Dr. Harkness,
"the rudiments were there, of course ;
but no real grasp of organized produc-
tivity. And as to misuse of product —
why, my dear Mr. Robertson, it is a
wonder anybody had enough to live on
in those days, in view of our criminal
waste.

"The real turning point, Mr. Robert-
son, if we can put our finger on one,
is where the majority of the people
recognized the folly and evil of pov-
erty— and saw it to be a thing of our
own making. We saw that our worst
poverty was poverty in the stock — that
we raised a terrible percentage of poor
people. Then we established a tem-
porary Commission on Human effic-
iency, away back in 1913 or 14 — "

"Thirteen," put in Mr. Pike, who sat
back listening to Dr. Harkness with an
air of repressed superiority.

"Thank you," said the eminent So-
ciologist courteously. "These young
fellows have it all at their fingers'
ends Mr. Robertson. Better methods
in education nowadays, far better ! As
I was saying, we established a Com-
mission on Human Efficiency."

"You will remember the dawning
notions of 'scientific management' we
began to have in the first decade of the
new century," Mrs. AUerton quietly
suggested. "It occurred to us later to
apply it to ourselves — and we did."

"The Commission found that the
majority of human beings were not
properly reared," Dr. Harkness re-
sumed," with a resultant low standard
of efficiency — shockingly low ; and that
the loss was not merely to the individ-
ual but to the community. Then So-
ceity stretched out a long arm and
took charge of the work of humanicul-
ture — began to lift the human stand-
ard.

"I won't burden you with details on
that line at present; it touched but
one cause of poverty after all. The

false theory of industry was next to be
changed. A few far-seeing persons
were already writing and talking about
work as an organic social function, but
the sudden spread of it came through
the new religion."

"And the new voters, Dr. Hark-
ness," my sister added.

He smiled at her benevolently. A
large, comfortable, full-bearded, rosy
old gentleman was Dr. Harkness, and
evidently in full enjoyment of his pres-
ent task.

"Let us never forget the new voters,
of course. They have ceased to be
thought of as new, Mr. Robertson —
so easily does the human mind accept
established conditions. The new re-
ligion urged work — normal, well-
adapted work — as the duty of life — as
life itself; and the new voters accepted
this idea as one woman.

"They were, as a class, used to do-
ing their duty in patient industry, gen-
erally distasteful to them ; and the op-
portunity of doing work they liked —
with a sense of higher duty added —
was universally welcomed."

"I certainly remember a large class
of women who practiced no industry
at all — no duty either, unless what
they called 'social duties,' " I rather
sourly remarked. Mrs. Allerton took
me up with sudden heat :

"Yes, there were such, in large num-
bers, in our great cities particularly;
but public opinion was rising against
them even as far back as 1910. The
more progressive women turned the
light on them first, and then men took
it up and began to see that this domes-
tic pet was not only expensive and use-
less but injurious and absurd. I don't
suppose we can realize," she continued
meditatively, "how complete the
change in public opinion is — and how
supremely important. In visible ma-
terial progress we have only followed
simple lines, quite natural and obvious,
and accomplished what was perfectly
possible at any time — if we had only
thought so."

"That's the point!" Mr. Pike was
unable to preserve his air of restraint
any longer, and burst forth voluably.

"That was the greatest, the most
sudden, the most vital of our changes,

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165

sir — the change in the world's thought !
Ideas are the real things, sir! Brick
and mortar? Bah! We can put brick
and mortar in any shape we choose —
but we have to choose first ! What
held the old world back was not facts
— not conditions — not any material
limitations, or psychic limitations
either. We had every constituent of
human happiness, sir — except the
sense to use them. The channel of
progress was obstructed with a deposit
of prehistoric ideas. We choked up
our children's minds with this mental
refuse as we choked our rivers and
harbors with material refuse, sir."

Dr. Harkness still smiled. "Mr. Pike
was in my class ten years ago," he ob-
served amiably. "I always said he
was the brightest young man I had.
We are all very proud of Mr. Pike."

Mr. Pike seemed not over pleased
with this communication, and the old
gentleman went on :

"He is entirely right. Our idiotic
ideas and theories were the main
causes of poverty after all. The new
views on economics — true social econ-
omics, not the 'dismal science' ; with
the blaze of the new religion to show
what was right and wrong, and the
sudden uprising of half the adult world
— the new voters — to carry out the
new ideas ; these were what changed
things ! There you have it, Mr. Rob-
ertson, in a nutshell — rather a large
nutshell, a pericarp, as it were — but I
think that covers it."

"We students used always to admire
Dr. Harkness' power of easy generali-
zation," said Mr. Pike, in a mild, sub-
acid tone, "but if any ground of in-
quiry is left to you, Mr. Robertson,
I could, perhaps, illuminate some spec-
ial points."

Dr. Harkness laughed in high good
humor, and clapped his whilom pupil
on the back.

"You have the floor, Mr. Pike — I
shall listen to you with edification."

The young man looked a little
ashamed of his small irony, and contin-
ued more genially:

"Our first step — or one of our first
steps, for we advanced like a strenuous
centipede — was to check the birth of
defectives and degenerates. Certain

classes of criminals and perverts were
rendered incapable of reproducing
their kind. In the matter of those dis-
eases most injurious to the young, very
stringent measures were taken. It was
made a felony to infect wife or child
knowingly, and a misdemeanor if it
were done unknowingly. Physicians
were obliged to report all cases of in-
fectious disease, and young girls were
clearly taught the consequence of mar-
riage with infected persons. The im-
mediate result was, of course, a great
decrease in marriage ; but the increase
in population was scarce checked at all
because of the lowered death rate
among children. It was checked a lit-
tle ; but for twenty years now, it has
been recovering itself. We increase a
little too fast now, but see every hope
of a balanced population long before
the resources of the world are ex-
hausted."

•Mr. Brown seized upon a second
moment's pause to suggest that the
world's resources were vastly in-
creased also — and still increasing.

"Let Pike rest a moment and get
his breath," he said, warming to the
subject, "I want to tell Mr. Robertson
that the productivity of the earth is
gaining every year. Here's this old
earth feeding us all — laying golden
eggs as it were ; and we used to get
those eggs by the Caesarian operation!
We uniformly exhausted the soil — uni-
formly ! Now a man would no more
think of injuring the soil, the soil that
feeds him, than he would of hurting his
mother. We steadily improve the soil;
we improve the seed ; we improve
methods of culture ; we improve every-
thing."

Mrs. Allerton struck in here, "Not
forgetting the methods of transporta-
tion, Mr. Robertson. There was one
kind of old world folly which made
great waste of labor and time ; that
was our constant desire to eat things
out of season. There is now a truer
sense of what is really good eating;
no one wants to eat asparagus that is
not of the best, and asparagus cut five
or ten days cannot be really good. We
do not carry things about unnecessar-
ily ; and the carrying Ave do is swift,
easy and economical. For slow freight

166

Moving the Mountain

we use waterways wherever possible —
you will be pleased to see the 'all-water
routes' that thread the country now.
And our roads — you haven't seen our
roads yet ! We lead the world."

"We used to be at the foot of the
class as to roads, did we not?" I asked;
and Mr. Pike swiftly answered :

"We did, indeed, sir. But that very
need of good roads made easy to us the
second step in abolishing poverty.
Here was a great social need calling
for labor; here were thousands upon
thousands of mien calling for employ-
ment ; and here were we keeping the
supply from the demand by main
strength — merely from those archaic
ideas of ours.

"We had a mass of valuable data al-
ready collected, and now that the
whole country teemed with new ideals
of citizenship and statesmanship, it
did not take very long to get the two
together."

"We furnished employment for all
the women, too," my sister added. "A
Social Service Union was formed the
country over ; it was part of the new
religion. Every town has one — men
and women. The same spirit that
used to give us crusaders and mission-
aries now gave plenty of enthusiastic
workers."

"I don't see yet how you got up any
enthusiasm about work," said I.

"It was not work for oneself,"
Nellie explained. That is what used to
make it so sordid ; we used really to
believe that we were working each
for himself. This new idea was over-
whelming in its simplicity — and truth ;
work is social service — social service is
religion — that's about it."

"Not only so," Dr. Harkness added,
"it made a three-fold appeal ; to the
old deep-seated religious sense ; to the
new, vivid intellectual acceptance ; and
to the very widespread, wholesome
appreciation of a clear advantage.

"When a thing was offered to the
world that agreed with every social
instinct, that appeal to common sense,
that was established by the highest
scientific authority, and that had the
overwhelming sanction of religion —
why the world took to it."

"But it is surely not natural to peo-

less to like to

pie to work — much
work !" I protested.

"There's where the change comes
in," Mr. Pike eagerly explained. "We
used to think that people hated work
— nothing of the sort! What people
hated was too much work, which is
death ; work they were personally unfit
for and therefore disliked, which is tor-
ture ; work under improper conditions,
which is disease; work held contempti-
ble, looked down upon by other people,
which is a grievous social distress ; and
work so ill-paid that no human beings
could really live by it."

"Why Mr. Robertson, if you can
throw any light on the now incon-
ceivable folly of that time so utterly
behind us, we shall be genuinely in-
debted to you. It was quite under-
stood in your day that the whole
world's life, comfort, prosperity and
progress depended upon the work done,
was it not?"

"Why, of course; that was an econ-
omic platitude," I answered.

"Then why were the workers pun-
ished for doing it?"

"Punished? What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I say. They were
punished, just as we punish criminals
— with confinement at hard labor. The
great mass of the people were forced
to labor for cruelly long hours at dull,
distasteful occupations ; is not that
punishment?"

"Not at all," I said hotly. "They
were free at any time to leave an occu-
pation they did not like."

"Leave it for what alternative?"

"To take up another," said I, per-
ceiving that this, after all, was not
much of an escape.

"Yes, to take up another under the
same heavy conditions, if there was any
opening; or to starve — that was their
freedom."

"Well, what would you have?" I
asked. "A man must work for his living
surely."

"Remember your economic plati-
tude, Mr. Robertson," Dr. Harlcness
sugo-ested. "The whole world's life,
comfort, prosperity and progress de-
pends upon the work done, you know.
It was not their living they were work-
ins: for ; it was the world's."

The Forerunner

167

"That is very pretty as a sentiment."
I was beginning ; but his twinkling eye
reminded me that an economic plati-
tude is not precisely sentimental.

"That's where the change came," Mr.
Pike eagerly repeated. "The idea that
each man had to do it for himself kept
us blinded to the fact that it was all
social service ; that they worked for the
world, and the world treated them
shamefully — so shamefully that their
product was deteriorated, markedly de-
teriorated."

"You will be continually surprised,
Mr. Robertson, at the improvement of
our output," remarked Mr. Brown.
"We have standards in every form of
manufacture, required standards ; and
to label an article incorrectly is a mis-
demeanor."

"That was just starting in the pure
food agitation, you remember," my sis-
ter put in — ('with apple juice containing
one-tenth of one per cent, of benzoate
of soda).'"

"And now," Mr. Brown continued,
" 'all wool' is all wool ; if it isn't, you
can have the dealer arrested. Silk is
silk, nowadays, and cream is cream."

"And 'caveat emptor' is a dead let-
ter?"

"Yes, it is 'caveat vendor' now You
see, selling goods is public service."

"You apply that term quite different-
ly from what it stood for in my mem-
ory," said I.

"It used to mean some sort of bene-
ficent statesmanship, at first," Nellie
agreed. "Then it spread to various
philanthropic efforts and wider grades
of government activities. Now it means
any kind of world work."

She saw that this description did not
carry much weight with me, and added,
"Any kind of human work, John ; that
is, work a man gives his whole time
to and does not himself consume, is
world work — is social service."

"If a man raises, by his own labor,
just enough corn to feed himselt — that
is working for himself," Mr. Brown ex-
plained, "but if he raises more corn
than he consumes, he is serving" hu-
manity."

"But he does not give it away," I
urged : "he is paid for it."

"Well, you paid the doctor who

saved your child's life, but the doctor's
work was social service none the less —
and the teacher's — anybody's."

"But that kind of work benefits hu-
manity— "

"Yes, and does it not benefit human-
ity to eat — to have shoes and clothes
and houses? John, John, wake up!"
Nellie for the first time showed impa-
tience with me. But my brother-in-
law extended a protecting arm.

"Now, Nellie, don't hurry him. This
thing will burst upon him all at one"
Of course it's glaringly plain, but there
was a time when you and I did not see
it either."

I was a little sulky. "Well, as far
as I gather." and I took out my note
book, "people all of a sudden changed
all their ideas about everythmg — and
your demi-millenium followed.''

"I wish we could say that." said Mrs.
Allerton. "We are not telling you of
our present day problems and difficul-
ties, you see. No, Mr. Robertson, we
have merely removed our most obvious
and patently unnecessary difficulties,
of which poverty was at least the larg-
est.

"What we did, as we have rather
confusedly suggested, I'm afraid, was
to establish such measures as to insure
better births, and vastly better environ-
ment and education for e^jpry child.
That raised the standard of the people,
you see, and increased their efficiency.
Then we provided emnlnvi-nent for
everyone, under good conditions, and
improved the world in two ways at
once."

"And who paid for this universal em-
ployment?" I asked.

"Who paid for it before?" she re-
turned promptly.

"The employer, of course."

"Did he? Out of his own private
pocket? At a loss to himself,"

"Why, of course not," I replied, a lit-
tle nettled. "Out of the profits of the
business."

"And 'the business' was the work
done by the employees?"

"Not at all ! He did it himself ; they
only furnished the labor."

"Could he do it alone — without
'labor?' Did he furnish employment
as a piece of beneficence, outside of his

168

"N. G.

business — Ah, Mr. Robertson, surely it
is clear that unless a man's labor lur-
nished a profit to his employer, he
would not be employed. It was on
that profit that 'labor' was paid — they
paid themselves. They do now, but at
a higher rate."

I was annoyed by this clever jug-
gling with the hard facts of business.

"That is very convincing, Mrs. Aller-
ton," I said with some warmth, "but it
imfortunately omits certain factors. A
lot of laborers could make a given arti-
cle, of course ; but they could not sell
it — and that is where the profit comes
in. What good would it do the laborer
to pile up goods if he could not sell
them?"

"And what good would be the ability
to sell goods if there were none, Mr.
Robertson. Of course I recognize the
importance of transportation : that is
my own line of work, but there must
be something to transport. As long

ago as St. Paul's day it was known that
the hand could not say to the foot, I
have no need of thee.' "

"To cover that ground more easily,
Mr. Robertson," Dr. Harkness ex-
plained, "just put down in your digest
there that Bureaus of Employment
were formed all over the country;
some at first were of individual initia-
tive, but in a few years' time all were
in government management. There
was a swift and general improvement
in the whole country. The roads be-
came models to the world, the harbors
were cleared, canals dug, cities rebuilt,
bare hills reforested, the value of our
national property doubled and trebeled
— all owing to the employment of
hitherto neglected labor. Out of the
general increase of wealth they got
their share, of course. And where
there is work for everyone, at good
wages, there is no poverty ; that's
clearly seen."

{To be covtinued)

N. G."

THE non-voting companionship
of women with "idiots, lunatics,
and criminals" has been sus-
tained for a long while, only a
comparatively few openly resenting it ;
but are women to accept with patience
this new census classification?

The initials "N. G." are used to indi-
cate the status of all women who are
not wage-earners. This does not mean
"no good," as is irresistably suggested,
but merely "non-gainful ;" and in itself
furnishes food for thought. While we
are thinking of it, let us include in our
meditations a new group sharing the
shelter of these initials.

We are told that the new census bu-
reau has issued verbal orders to its
tabulating clerks to classify prostitutes
as "N. G."

Statistics on the "social evil" are of
the most vital importance to the na-
tion. Why should they be suppressed?
Are these women so frightfully numer-

ous that the authorities fear to have
their numbers known? A most mis-
taken policy; the worse the case is the
more fully we ought to know it.

Are they so few as to be negligible?
We ought to know that also.

We have figures for the waitresses,
mill-workers, milliners, dressmakers,
and so on ; but these unfortunates,
whose names and addresses have been
secured with all the others, are now to
be obliterated professionally.

Since they must be concealed, an(«
could not, apparently, be sheltered
under the mantle of any industrial
workers, they have been added to the
ranks of daughters, wives and mothers
living at home.

May it be suggested, from the point
of view of an equal suffragist, that if
women were responsible for these sta-
tistics they would have done quite
otherwise.

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169

COMMENT AND REVIEW

*'The New Machiaveli," by H. G. Wells, Duf-
field & Co., New York. $1.35 net.

In times past, when an unusual
woman showed marked capacity in
some Hne of human service, all were
quick to see and point out with scorn
or pity, the "feminine limitations" of
her work. It was done "like a
woman," they said ; it was "womanish ;"
it was to be grudgingly measured as
"good — for a woman," if good at all.

Now we are beginning to use some-
thing of the opposite point of view in
regard to men's achievements ; and we
need it, constantly, in considering the
work of Mr. H. G. Wells

The masculine limitations of this au-
thor are marked and persistent. He
sees life wholly from the side of sex —
his sex ; and when, as in this last book,
he frankly announces himself "femin-
ist," it is only sex in woman which he
sees, and for which he demands social
recognition.

Of course it is difficult for a man to
overcome this bias, more so than for a
woman ; yet many great men have
been able to do it. Mr. Wells has not.

Note this record of masculine emo-
tion and conduct, its morbid excesses
blasting an otherwise valuable life —
indeed several of them — yet discussed
with naive solemnity as if it was all in
the necessary order of nature.

The book tells of a boy somewhat
unfortunate in birth and breeding, as
most of us are ; growing up to keen-
minded speculation on human life, its
pressing needs and problems ; yet in
all this wide sociological interest to-
tally oblivious to such a predominating
social question as the woman's move-
ment.

The girl he passes in the street who
stirs his boyish sensations ; the women
of his frankly told experiences ; the
woman he marries — "I suppose it was
because I had so great a need of such
help as her whiteness proffered," he
says ; "I wanted a woman to save me ;"
— and the next one with whom he
overwhelmingly falls in love; these are
real to him ; and one other, mercilessly
caricatured. These impress him ; but
the change in social relation of thou-

sands does not impress him. The
work is powerful and clear ; the view
of the present confusion of methods,
especially in the rearing of young peo-
ple, is vividly appealing; but the criti-
cisms of political life show a strange
lack of adjustment in eyes that see so
far.

To be in the immediate workings of
the political department of the social
body must necessarily be confusing.

The social philosopher can see an
ordered procession of changes for cen-
turies ahead, but the politician must
introduce those changes step by step —
with some heat.

The worst thing about this book is
the spirit of personal enmity it reveals ;
the Dantesque consigning of enemies
to the hell of a wickedly clever carica-
turization. Little London, where
everybody who is anybody knows
everybody else, buzzed madly over the
book.

This is pitiful work. If there was
no personal animus in this bitter ridi-
cule, it shows sheer malice. If there
was a personal ground, it implicates
the author with his creation most pain-
fully.

Mr. Wells is easily among the first
of those who are kindled with the so-
cial consciousness, and able to spread
the light and heat of it to others. His
work is extremely able, though irregu-
lar; and with his unrivalled imagina-
tion, wide scientific knowledge, and
highly developed art, he ought to be
one of the prime movers of the world
today. But here enter the disabilities
of sex. Not only, as in this tale, is a
mans' political life ruined by open
scandal, but the artist, scientist, and
publicist is cut off from highest use-
fulness by this constant limitation.

In a publication whose popularity
proves its knowledge of the prevailing
tastes of the man in the street, has
been running a story most pleasing and
absorbing to that man. With passion-
ate eagerness he read it from week to
week, discussed it with his friends,
commented sagely on its florid phil-
osophy.

170

Comment and Review

This story is "The Grain of Dust,"
by the late David Graham Phillips.

It is a man's story, utterly; mascu-
line from start to finish; with woman
only thrown in as a background; the
vain and shallow fiancee, the vain and
shallow sister, the vain and shallow
girl who served as a grain of dust to
stop the action of the hero's "works" ;
— not that she had power even to do that
— the power was all in him !

" 'It isn't the woman who makes a
fool of the man,' said Norman, 'it's the
man who makes a fool of himself !' "

The most amusing feature of the
book is this; the ultra-male hero; vain
beyond belief, brutally self-confident,
unprincipled as a fish, indififerent to
any intersts but his own, self-indul-
gent to a degree which would have
made him a shameful wreck in five
years had not the author endowed him
with a magic immunity to all excesses ;
and first, last and always the ceaseless
mouthpiece of an egotism unmeasured
and unashamed ; this man dwells con-
tinually on the vanity and egotism of
women !

Because a girl, the efifect of whose
marvellous everchanging beauty forms
the subject matter of the story, thinks
she is beautiful — therefore she is a
monument of the egotism of her sex !

Because another girl whom this lov-
able hero was about to marry for her
beauty, money and position, and who
was somewhat in love with him ; really
expected him to love her; really re-
sented his loving another woman while
relentlessly going on to marry her
for business purposes ; and really rec-
ognized in herself the beauty, wealth
and position he was marrying her for
— she was another monument of femi-
nine egotism.

It would seem on the face of it that
if one wished to write a book to estab-
lish the utter incapacity, selfishness
and vanity of women ; one would
choose a type of that sort, and sur-
round her with the effective contrast
of useful, noble, modest and unselfish
men. Such a woman, so exhibited,
should exert her arts in vain upon
these noble characters.

In this story, however, we have for

our heroine a quiet, lovely girl, effi-
cient and devoted as a daughter; self-
supporting and self-respecting under
long temptation; finally choosing to
marry her chief pursuer even without
"love," preferring his wealth and pro-
fessed devotion to long poverty and
possible failure and shame : a deed at
worst no more to be condemned than
his earlier attempt.

His wealth, by the way, was non-
existent when he married her — he de-
liberately deceived her in this; and his
"love" vanished on the morning after.
Thereafter he treats her as an upper
servant, whose only business in life is
to minister to his personal comfort —
whose only claim on him was for "sup-
port ;" and in her new efforts to please
him, forgetting that she had done the
work of a house for years and cared
tenderly for an absent-minded father,
while at the same time earning her
living at distasteful labor, he is at
great pains to show her pitifully inef-
ficient, and never more than moder-
ately successful.

And we can never ask the author if
this book was really meant as a satire
on men !

"The Players of London." Written
by Louise Beecher Chancellor, deco-
rated by Harry B. Matthews, Pub-
lished by B. W. Dodge Company, New
York, 1909.

This is not a new book, in the strict
publisher's sense, but it is an ex-
tremely attractive one, with its
binding of lilac and gold, its pro-
fuse inner trimmings of lilac, and
vivid illuminations in black and white.
The story is a simple one, of the
days of Good Queen Bess, with no
less a person for the hero than Master
Will. Shakespere; and for the heroine,
the first woman to appear on the Eng-
lish stage. It does seem strange indeed
for Romeo and Juliet to be writ-
ten with the expectation of some
lad's taking the part of that passionate
young heroine. But this appears to
be what Shakspere did. How he was
misled in the matter, for what noble
purpose and to what poor end, is
shown in this old world tale.

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